Remember when love was urgent,
the thought of it, the rush—
your body against another’s,
the tingle that ran along the curve
of a question awaiting an answer
that weighed as if it were too much
for anyone to hold, let alone you
and your young, spotless, meandering
mind and its stubborn surety of destiny,
of ever afters as clear as glass shoes
and dances at midnight and no chores
at the end of a long day, how could there be
an end to this high of a roller coaster,
the sky ahead and above and below
all tumbled inside your heart—how long
can forever stretch to fill an instant 
you wonder, living inside tomorrow
as if today were a memory, a petal
pulled from the wheel of a flower,
each velvet, withered thread 
weaving possibility.