Too Late
We knew ourselves by a few different names.
You once called yourself mistress
and explained
why it was neither an affair or fling
but where the future lay, I never knew.
You were better at playing grown-up games
whereas I thought it was teen age regained
-it meant so much, didn’t mean anything
like the pop records I would play to you.
But now it is too late for all of that
and all there is is what you left behind.
If there were any need to make amends
(something we didn’t need to be good at),
we can’t, except to say, if you don’t mind,
that what we really were was such good friends.
