when you were young you were the king of carrot flowers

the first time:
we licked popsicle off our thumbs
and counted to ten with our faces in the hot brick
and we wished we were twenty five
the second time:
we washed our hands of dirty chucks and pop punk
and realized our parents were only human
and we wished we were eleven
when the sun would drip with promise
and we were all skinned knees and endless afternoons

you are still endless, just-
different
more dark and infinite and distant with words that sting like
the spaces between the stars
and you want to know
i know you do
and you understand
because who doesn't nowadays
but we're the clenched fist
white knuckle bloody ragged nails sliced palms
and you act like it doesn't matter
and maybe it doesn't to you
but we curdle and you smile
and sometimes i wonder if we were better off as children