of remembered pleasures,
but I remember a story
that is different from that.
Quicksilver memories so raw in the light,
woven with laughter
and the whip-sting of words,
the world of perhaps was compressed too tight
and I stole time
that was not best to give.
The endings were there
with your clover-spice taste,
and there was only so long I could not-dance with you.
We did not fit,
did not find rhythm and line,
and you could not breathe
with me in your skin.
I want to dance
and to spar
and to love,
but this is not
that kind of story.
And we are not
that kind of story.
~Inspired by ChK~