Sweet 16

Those days smelled as of

Blown birthday candles

Smoke of the first cigarette

Cherry trees we loitered under

The storm after a clap of thunder

I still hear noises from those times

Laughter from the magic smoke

The drunk talk hiccups

Wails of the police sirens

Late night confessions of our dreams

Yet I won't reach the past

I mustn't touch what's behind me

The assassination of my youth

Quilted a wound I shall never heal:

I cannot return what was once real