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.