Dreaming of starry Italian nights again.
How should I stop?
When heads are in elbows and are belly’s stuffed.
I know because even now,
I remember everything.
We both knew then, you more than I.
At that time at least, you more than I.
Well, now you know I knew.
And I suppose you don’t dream at all.
Not as I do, at least not now.
Even then I was dreaming of nights spent.
No, not in the way one would suppose.
In ways beyond that, for pleasures sake.
Less of an action, more of a feeling I would say.
But there was no action.
Is it foolish to try and remember
Why I held back for so many years?
Why I energetically wait for defeat.
Perhaps I needed to grieve us.
Perhaps grief is all I hadn’t felt in us.
Not truly, not deeply.
But to feel grief as so to feel everything,
What a waste!
Not to feel what could have been uncharted.
Is it unnatural
to think of something so long ago so often?
Fanciful, I guess.
After all, I don’t think I’m one to like.
Only to fall madly in love
And perhaps never to stand.
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