Lost Then DRAFT

Who were you in my playpen sleep?

The stray moment I would keep 

to myself and tell you once

we both grew older, the level best

we might portray when golden

sunlight spawns.  

Our world yawns impolitely. We feel the suffix

of long-tended roses. If you can stretch

to the north of true, remember

how it was one day when your soft red curls 

gleamed in the enclosed space.

And I was lost and leaned down

to look at you to discern whether

you had a younger clue about

this world and what we both

might do. 

Before the yellow curtains

the dash of color in your fair 

clothing, my simplicity 

in urgency, the walk, the motion

of the air. And where we were

then.