To My Friend

We sought to touch the moon
Cupped hands held high
Swinging from stars
Like monkey bars

Our skin still smells of beer,
Red wine, stale sweat,
From nights we thought perpetual,
Stealing from taverns, sleeping on trains
Two drifting butterflies, frail as tendrils
Plunging like swan divers,
Ignoring the high tide

From nights of running wild,
Like careless cherubs
Bruising our knees, scraping our elbows
Drugged on art, drunk on breathing,
Always challenging The Time, The Time, The Time
Two vagrants swaying
To the cadence of young spirits

Our city will outlive us,
Its sky will shimmer silver
When our wings have torn and rusted,
Its luster, like ceaseless lanterns,
Will glow when our pores no longer swell
With passion, and our voices
Start to croak

And the fevered flesh will frost,
And my blood will dry like paste,
And age will abate the hunger,
And the perennial quest,
And I will crumble knowing nothing
As absolute as friendship

The Time has finally come
Fulfilling its belated promise,
Severing the stem from the root
Like a child plucks the petals
From the most beautiful of flowers