What did we talk about?

I remember
scenes,
sensations,

sitting on rocks
with our feet
in a cool,
rushing
stream,

sand between my
fingers and toes,
you splashing me
with sea water,

grabbing my hand
and running
through woods.

The green room
where we slept
until noon.

You slept.

I waited.

The lights
and music,
the bathrooms,
four to a stall.

I thought the
dance floor would
cave in beneath us.

But never too
much talking.

Gossip,
of course, but
it was usually
about us, before
we arrived
and after we
left,

what we wore,
where we went,
and what
we took.

How good
we looked.

Once, you asked
how I could pass
a mirror and
not look in,

and I often
heard a slurred
"I love you."

I told you
I would never
leave you.

"Then I'll take
you down with
me," you replied.

So young,
we were―

we both
misjudged me.