what i miss

If there's one thing I miss, it's living

when love was pure, and life
was well-assured.
The sun that rose was bright
and never pulled us in
too close;
that's what I miss.

The burns I have acquired, now,
in starting my own fires,
well- they're sore.
But what's more,
it's living that I miss.

When kisses never used
up living's breath,
and every night remained
the night, and not a death-
That's what I miss-
It's living that I miss.