We lived on the edge of a window,
a high perch above a city on wheels -
we did not rush with it,
we watched.
The sex was a drive through a Theme Park,
it was not serious; it was not deadly.
Sometimes it was torture in a fun house,
it was manic, on occasion, clownish,
never dull, always surprisingly restful,
however love was not a dish we shared.
The years have raced away
on their long directionless speedways,
but there are no curled-up regrets
strewn across the highways
like roadkill.
I figured you were now happy
to be not with me, I was with you, likewise
and those youthful sex games
have been refined, improved
as other stories with other partners,
then gratefully
left at the side of a road
for a love tramp to find.