Casket

I used to think that love was our casket,
that our hearts were too far dead to care.
I used to think
that our memories buried us alive.

Sitting in your bedroom-
gray carpet, white walls.
I used to think,
there was no room for me.

I guess that you could call this a love poem;
a not so sudden realization of your emotions.

I used to dream of the day we met,
the weeks afterward,
when we were only friends.
Only friends. Friends and so much more.

I'd lay in your arms, afraid you were tired of me.
I would kiss your lips, wondering if mine had lost their luster.
If they'd ever had any to begin with.

I used to think that love was our casket,
that our hearts were too far dead to care.
I used to think
that our memories buried us alive.