Going Back to the Crib

I remember you and I
Walking hand in hand
In earnest talk
Trying to imagine
What the world was trying to be.
The man I would become;
The woman you would bloom;
Wishing things to come too soon
I would mumble shy words of love.

Children preserved in youth
Frozen deep in memory,
I feel the spriteness of time,
The ache of age,
The tingle of your touch,
We're almost old enough
To feel nothing.