Summer Reflection

The smell of a freshly cut lawn
reminds me of the days we spent
rolling, rolling,
before our hips could no longer
hold the weight of our adoration.

The sweetness of the vapid summer days
in which we assumed ourselves in each other
and now our days, endlessly numbered,
stretch on in a myriad of comfortable certainties.

Memories, they say, are all we have.
Memories, they say, fade.
If all we ever have is destined to leave us,
why have we not left each other?
Why do we think we can outdo history and eternity and life
(those upstarts! they must say as we go quietly by)
and make our way oh so much farther down the road
than any of our interminable memories?

It is because we already have.
From those days in which silent walks,
hand-in-hand through leaf-speckled sidewalks,
finally coming back to routine
after hours upon themselves.
We came, bursting back home through the nowhere
to sleep in the season of summer intoxication.