There was an old photo in my attic,
when you were a child at play.
You had given it to me back in the day,
back when we were lovers…
before our hearts both ran astray.
I study the picture of the little boy,
I didn’t know your heart back then…
when your innocence was still winning.
You grew up, of course, and your desires shifted.
your innocence killed…
while your lust was constantly fulfilled.
When did you start missing it?
that joyful feeling of purity and curiosity combined.
How bad you must have missed it,
that you felt such a strong need to rob me of mine.
*from my poetry book, Restless Reflections