We meet again,
just when I believed you’d drown.
Face to face,
past to past,
two boys out on the town.
If it’s possible,
if I’m able,
I’ll cherish this rendezvous.
I learn much,
these seconds of hate.
They stockpile my dignity,
reinvigorate.
They replenish my faith,
renew integrity I feared
had long past faded.
Oh, I ache to punch,
yearn to maim.
Ultimately,
why waste the motion?
You suffer obvious already;
a prisoner of meaningless devotion.
Those pretty-boy jeans,
you wear them just right.
That wrinkle-free shirt
rolled up so precise.
Both match the bracelet
that dangles such so,
accent spiky hair
gelled slick to flow.
Such a hip little earring.
Such daring hair on the lip.
Such trendy brown boots
laced as not to slip.
You walk in no direction.
You’re a bullet without a hole.
You’re a situation master;
a builder without a home.
Should I have expected different
from a clown so in tune?
A wave rider so offensive?
A disease so immune?
You’re trendy chic cool,
a mug etched cock-sure.
You’re everything to despise;
everything to endure.
You’re a walking stain,
a blemish in motion,
a lingering flaw
that won’t scrub free.
You’re a bad intention,
a sad invention,
a sour taste
that won’t wash out.
You're a little puppy,
searching door to door,
a lie about to transpire,
a sad, little whore.
We meet again here together,
one a boy, the other a man;
one an opportunist,
one a provider, teacher, guardian.
BAF
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