oceans...

Let us start the night with a coarse laugh. A bubble of moon sightings and a mirage of broken sincerities. Let us fly on bikes with danger for wings, find that ripcord to pull before the morning comes.

And to think we started with plans. When the day was still high and the faces flew before us, some smiling, some wrinkling, some paling - battling bugs and heat and hunger, when they came.

Books strewn like a compost pile around the old willow tree in your backyard, fingers like seams in the sky - we lost ourselves to music which is more a harmony of thought and the excitement that comes with new knowing. Before now, neither one of us knew what it was to wake with poetry in our veins.

You eat cookies like how a dying man might eat his last supper, slow and sure, and with a sort of maddening modesty in your eyes. The watermelon you find problems with - pits and bruises and the wear of wrong seeds. The sort of way you classify people with broken-in shoes.

If there was ever a time I didn't know you, I don't remember it. And if there is ever a measure of life that you leave untouched, I do not know it.

This is the sort of friendship that wages wars with grief and despair, and digs it's burrows deepest when something's wronged us. This is the hour that thaws time till its stagnant mulch becomes something fluid and unbending. Something long and wandering.

And to think we started this with plans. Blankets wrapped around you like stars, and moisture setting in. Spilling the truth like pepper wit and laughing away the pain.

Laughing like breathing and bearing away the tears on fingers spread surprised and proud, like a puzzled child - Look. See this? This, I am water. And we keep weighing each other against that heavy joy.

See this? This, we are oceans...