What We Cannot Have

Down the hill we tumble on a child’s red sled.

Smoothly, we glide over summer’s fallen leaves.

You sit behind me, like the autumn sun behind the golden trees.

As we wheel down, my hair blows gently,tickling your legs

where you have carelessly rolled up the hem of your pants,

Insisting, notice me, notice this.

It is not the cool air that sends shivers.

We both know it is this moment disguised,
that we will remember when we step off this sled as friends.