Austere glows from streetlamps
shimmer down upon your cheeks, covered
in winter's hickeys
as we take a slow midnight stroll
down the street where we grew up,
plagued by the dog of nostalgia that never deserts.
Seen in a new light,
childhood's idyllic times take on
a different form, rotting when
the sun is not looking,
disfiguring itself with time.
and satisfaction is not found,
ripping apart stitched wounds.