an old poem I wrote in grad school

First you love me, Then you fade away.

Sings Lindsey, as if his guitar could pronounce the word.

Between you and your own excitement, I say, speaking about myself.

This premonition ceases to disappoint, out of all of this dinosaur breath.

Beginning with the smashing and smothering together of ten thousand years before this hour,

Ending with the realization that this hour has not yet been born.

Seeping into the space that resides silently as the hills flooded with fog.

Saving it would only allow that time to quicken its split into light and dust.

Can I imagine the consistency of fermions created before the sun could blink?

But I can find you in a crowd over and over again.

Touch the sleeve of a stranger and know its you again.

Go to sleep dreaming of the escape I will commit, again.

To late tonight, to drag the past out into the light.

Those boys sweetly sing, smoother than Lindsey can.

Bottles and bottles and bottles of ocean foam.

Two hours pass and I’m still singing along.

Singing and humming and whistling Pack’s song.