For a friend.

I wish you were here, to find me, or for me to find you – toes peeking out from beneath the certainty of the curtain, betraying the shades of white and green, clinging tightly to the strength of the rest of you, the chambers of your slight echoes from the  structured  ridgid body, trying far too hard to be stagnant. It’s not your fault, you’re amazing. The glimmer of a flash, find me grin, drag me from my life, from my Earthly stall direct my resignation of with that soft sliding smile of the syllables of my name that only you can choose to accompany with the pull of togetherness, attention and bespoke calm. Still a window. You’re press,  one says nothing and everything with such prominence, almost like an intellectual promenade, the sanction of acceptance an excerpt of the analogue of the best dog ear re read pressed, cracked spine of a novel. The more I think, the less I know. That’s ok. All dressed up and nowhere to go. Sit down, sonder through the leveling of life and art and conversations of exclamations and compressed smiles, the other tessellations, relive the wonderment.  Levers and boulders,  wills evers that nexus, ocular that divide.  Perhaps our minds are destroyed in the middle and it’s all a perfect and irrelevant, start to a finished parallel line. Maybe we will never cross that threshold, divide. I like the notion, the idea that in the existential plains, the holographic designs, in strides in nature in every curtailing or uncertain way you will be there, arrived and waiting not necessary for me. But Free.    

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