I still remember–that cliché

I still remember–that cliché,
But all the same–the heat of
The sun clinging to the black tar
And bouncing before vision,
Beside our strides upon our walk.

We weren't more than friends, although
I fondly wished to have him.
But my nature is to yearn; no:
To pine to seduce Never;
To fall in loves that don't exist.

But not that day. We turned along
The sidewalk's gray meander.
Our long legs we put to use, stepped
In sight of the green walls of
The gardens curling near the street.

He led me to an entrance in
The fence which wasn't into
The real garden; rather we came
Upon a remote wooded
Seclusion, there to house our day.

The auburn promenade had been
Well-trodden down the path through
The grove's bosom, deep in her heart,
Outstretching the sought clearing;
It stood within a thicket green.

The thing was large and made of wood,
And when I asked him what it
Was used for, he didn't quite know
But guessed it was for hanging
Up scores for sports of yesteryear.

We clambered up the wobbling thing,
Without a care for his part,
For my part with fear but spurred on;
Together we sat on the
Forgotten scaffold for a while.

We looked out on the vacant field,
The boughs between obscuring
Our seat. From my pocket I pulled
The lighter and blunt, lit it.
We shared a smoke, a spark in time.

I dreamt on what it means to love,
I wondered of its power, 
My friend played a joke on me by
Pretending he'd leap down from
The tower; I was so afraid.

I marveled at delusion, and
I saw how high I held him;
The high precipice my fond heart 
Had carried him to, lofty,
Above me always pedestaled.

But what could all my fondness do
If chance should blow adversely,
Or black-winged descend upon him?
If peril should strike, will there
Be wings of love protecting him?

He joked and I was flustered, I
Was nervous, but we laughed and
We smoked, gazing at the clouds where
Our smoke will disperse, joining
The orange bed among the skies.