The Water Of Was

we were but children
tossing our hearts to chance
skinny-dipping

in hidden creeks

and bottles of cheap wine
forgetting paper labels
peel away in storms
withering with time
leaving only tattered shreds
of who we were
in the water of was
to rest against banks

of red clay and wishbone branches
remembering our puppy love
to scarred oak trees
 

we could never outlast