Once Upon a F*$ked Up Time

I wanted, once upon a
fucked up time,
to believe that anything
could have been possible.
I wanted to shine my rays
upon your face and bask
in the radiating glow.
But, what did I know?
I knew you weren't content
just then.
I knew you were excited,
with possibilities packed
in your suitcases.
I knew that I had wanted
to crawl into the pockets
of your backpack
and travel next to your socks.
I knew that I had wanted to crumple
next to your jeans and slacks
and hand you your toothbrush
right when you needed it.
I knew that I had wanted
to cook you late night
dinners of pork chops
and baked potatoes
and ask you to open the
sparkling wine.
I knew I had wanted to
eat greasy burgers,
sitting in the dirt on the
side of a road somewhere
while you smiled at me.
I knew I had wanted to savor
watching you-watch the world.
I knew that I had wanted
to dance with you,
barefoot in the grassy fields
with the boom box blaring
beneath the midwest moon.
I knew I had wanted you
to feel happiness,
in the form of whatever it took.
But, I had wanted to feel it too.
Once, upon a fucked up time,
I thought that life would
play out like cards
and that the Universe would
be gracious in its trumps
and bowers.
I see now, that it always was
and that I may have passed
my hand too soon.
Maybe I could have made do
with a few off suit
and said "ok" when you
found your spot
and the dust had settled down.
Once upon a fucked up time,
I had no clue
what I was doing.
I had packed you away.
I had stowed your memory
and placed it between the
rocks that I had collected.
I had put your picture
and note in boxes,
and pulled them from
my closet when Six Pence
played on my stereo.
Once,
upon a tender sweet time,
maybe I should have spoken
a little louder.