I want to go back

to when I would sneak a hidden kiss to you between chaotic stacks of books

their wearied bindings decorating wooden shelves

dog-eared pages fanned open to fragrant faded pressings

paragraphs and stanzas outlining ancient prophecies 

poets we memorized and quoted over scalding black coffee 

a needle softly popping worn vinyl grooves from a jazz record

scattered notes stirring the misty air of our youth

melodies of calm everyday existence

but it’s gone

poetic passion lost in gaps of aging sidewalks 

laughter floating drowned atop musky foam of stale beer

and within the cobwebbed chaos of empty storefront windows I find 

only the longing pull of memories of when 

we were young, raw and real.

Nikki Lockhart