cloistered in the garden,
we’ll never travel,
or wander past the yard.
we’ll never leave home,
pack a bag, or ride the train together.
but still, i’ll breathe you in
on car rides,
and in carports, where i can,
because. we’ll never be young again—
not like this.
two kids,
guilty as sin, drunk off cheap wine,
throwing rocks at the gates of hell,
laughing, under the tree
as news anchors fly by,
insects 'round the hive.
and i’m on for you, babe,
happy to be alive—

never having had you,
never needing to
to survive.