It was my bright idea to head to the cemetery past dusk,
to kiss between trees and shadows
like edginess hadn’t been invented yet.

Fifteen years old,
learning discernment the way most of us do—
through mistakes.

By the time we hit second base,
the headlights came.

Ghosts must have called the police on us.
We straightened up,
you rolled the window down for the officer.

He made sure I was there willingly,
and I laughed.
He promised not to tell on me,
just said we had to leave
and that I needed to go home
so he’d know I wasn’t out getting hurt.

You were seventeen then.
Fooling around suddenly had a serious edge
that wasn’t the experience we meant to have, my love.
We still had fun, though.

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