By John Sweet
this quiet knowledge, this
unspoken admission, this stupid goddamn truth
that all of your great adventures
are in the past
that nothing can be touched without the
ever-present threat of doing it harm
not by you, of course, but by 100,000,000
others just like you, which is just a
prettier way of saying by you
listen
a desert is a desert
what we were has nothing to do with
who we are
but maybe we can forget this
maybe our truths no longer hold any pleasure
we never get tired of fucking
just of fucking each other
windows left open on early summer afternoons,
you naked on the floor with dying
flowers spilling from your open mouth
sunlight and cold wind and
dreams of escape
that exact moment where i finally stopped
growing up and just started growing old
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing