I remember years ago
falling in love
for the first time.

I was a kid
and so anyone
can call
it bullshit if they want,

and maybe be right.

But that's not all it was.
Not to me
at least.

Her name was Chris,
and she was light years
more evolved
than I.

We kissed in the woods above her house
one winter day,
and her lips on mine
sent a bolt of lightening
through my belly
that I can feel
even now.

I miss Chris.
I miss her lips and her smile and her laugh
and the innocence
we shared.

I heard she got married and fat and made a bunch of catholic babies,
which is probably about par for the course,
and better then I did by a long shot,

though who knows
what she'd say
if this was her story,
not mine.

I'm such a hungry ghost,
sitting here thinking back
longingly,

aching
for the timelessness
those times seemingly contained.

In reality of course,
it was all over in an instant,
each moment
dying in childbirth
for the next,

leaving only
smoke and stains
where once
sweet love
took root.

But that's how life is,
where what happens
goes so fast
its over before
there's time
to think,

leaving only sweet memories
and maybe
a little bliss.

Since then
I have loved and been loved many times,
felt the surge
when two
become
one,

grasped and loosed
the holy joy
of wet warm communion,

nursed and healed
the deathlike ache
when love
come to an end,

and while falling
often
down the rabbit hole
of mourning
the impossibility
of endless joy,

always in the end
there is finally
just the
quiet peace
that flows
from the heart

she kissed
and opened
in the snowy field
that winter day.