For the one who cooked me Poha

I had
a friend
tell me
With eyes
of endearment
to my naivete
That she, too, once believed
in love
in travel

Experience
the fruit of her adventures
enlightened her
with life's wrinkles
Romance
the physical performance of love (as I know it)
left her
with social scars

And love
and travel
now loess
To the owner of a heart
sinking
into the everyday
As I quietly panic
at the inevitability
of being too old

For dreams