Three Old Friends

I was having coffee with these two guys,
bushwhacked the jungle of the city with them most days,
today it was just coffee,
the both of them so caught up in dreams,
like me, they were like that,
and like me, they were a part of each other,
the three of us a part of a whole, something powerful.

something that you could fuel a rocket to mars with
that’s what the three of us had, wrecking the world
around us, making it ours and each others at the same time
burning it down, building it up,
letting it rot and scrubbing away the mold;
we were oak trees on an ocean liner
all of the possibility could not fuel us to a new continent
and we kept on until a summer storm split us three ways to saturn.

But before that storm, I was having coffee with them,
rushing in the open wind again, slicing through the air
with our witty mannerisms and crazy jargon,
perfected over years of effective communication.
We talked about the shared loves and the not so shared loves,
we finished the sunrise and let our cups silhouette our view,
exploits and deeds tearing apart the oak tree,
we poured physically from one another’s lives.

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