When the daylight fades
& the florescent harshness
envelops you both, you see
the steady lines & try to
remember the reasons & how
you were once contented
with cold church steps
& shared cigarettes.
You remember how the heap
of clothing you slithered
out of after lunch resembled
a lost hound in a storm.
But you’re no longer
chasing rain dogs.
The narrow passageways
in your chest have gotten
tighter, leaving less room.
& when night closes in,
you find yourself
remembering how
you felt, but not feeling
how you remember
& all at once
you realize that
sometimes love is average,
a tepid beer on a worn bar top.
