When we were young

I belted the fancy to my farce; you smiled, elven in the summer snows. Why couldn't we cinch our hips to the sun; why couldn't we play flutes on moons; why couldn't we sway under vellum stars, a thousand years old...

Do you remember when we had timid toes and dangerous desires? I remember hallowed hopes now fallowed fells. Today I frayed the belt centimeters more. I have notches and scratches and cuts and scuffs. And yet it clings to our wastes...

The weight of time grains into the leathers of years like wet cement and horsehairs I used to prance wearing, like feathered ladies. We no longer hold hands under slivers of moons and felt tip tents; I feel the missing space, the ache of addiction. I fear its satiation.