and how you lost them
playing tag with summer shadows
in the lemonade and the ice cubes
in the attics and the cupboards you hid in
and in the backyards
where you stretched time to arm’s length.
Tell me about your first kiss
and how we should never be allowed to
touch before we know the meaning of infinity
and more importantly
how braces hurt when connected
like two magnets that can’t get enough
of one another.
[You wind chill
You unbent sunbeam]
Tell me about the first time
I hurt you
how it stung like something new
like your first bug bite
or bee sting
or your first failed test.
Tell me about how I’ve failed you
But also about how I loved you
and if I did it hard enough
and coffee shops
and car rides
and late nights
while squeezing eyes shut for wishing stars
to be something you’re proud of.
Are you proud of me?
Tell me about that too.