Peaches

We didn't know...
that weekend we painted the bathroom orange
and back again

and the night the fireworks woke us
and we froze, kneeling at the opened casement
until the vixen had finished her strident lullaby

and when we fell asleep in our deckchairs
waiting for a shooting star to wish upon

and on sundays; a tattoo of horses parading the lane
and the mourning of bells for the vows we never took

and when we got drenched
putting in the peach and the pond
and the leaves dripped chocolate drops
of rain
...that one day

we'd blink
and it would be history

and I can't pinpoint exactly
when life became the wash-wear cycle
of old clothes
only without the thrill of the spin
or a brief dance in the sun
 
It's not want of love, my love
only... 
sometimes I long to know again
the sweetness of peaches