Old friend

“Old friend.”

That’s the term.

I forgot that I’ve known you for minutes,
because I feel that it’s been as
long as I’ve known how to
tie my laces,
or properly know how to discern
the difference between
the “show” and
the revelation
beneath
those
affected
carapaces.

I am broken,
and battered,
and of no actual use -
no strength remaining,
a crippled back.
Shall we agree to meet
by Wetherspoons?
Or we could dance on the moon -
balloons drifting up,
coffee cups
swirling black.

That idyllic yearn.

Atemberaubend.