It was never assumed we'd understand 
the bewildering things our young hearts dreamed of,
the obscure and fabulous,tales 
told like secrets on a star starved night.

Yet eventual clarity, we assumed, 
would arrive like children, a mortgage, 
the pattern of empty afternoons and death. 
We promised ourselves and waited for light.

Remember when you spoke of ecstasy 
and pummelled my cheeks to show how urgent it feels,
how meaning subverts itself in speech, the map
of my purpling flesh showing the way?

Well, still the taunts of the not understood tantalise;
a seagull taking flight, the moon obscured
by your shadow falling above me, our children's cries,
the space between words where silence roars.