I am trying to rest in this idyllic place
not count the hours slipping away
but it is impossible not to know,
to the minute,
how many are left.
I try to remember
a time when I did not notice
the passing of time. And I am back
in some random apartment you rented,
and we, the three of us, have spent hour
upon hour upon hour in bed.
We have lost ourselves
in the pleasures of the flesh,
until our raging stomachs,
the only clocks that mattered,
drove us from the bed to the kitchen
where there was nothing to eat.
So we stood there, keeping you company
while you made tiramisu from scratch.
We took it back to the bed;
and ate it all, knowing we were young,
and beautiful, and loved.