Pot

Slick shit soothes,
soft shin smooth,
you have those knobby knees
that knock awkward.

Your curly hair falls,
your bare back against the wall,
we try to kiss
but we can't stop laughing.

Those Little Mermaid sheets
tucked in the corners, neat,
fly off the bed fast.
You hit your head on the bedpost.

16 and wild-eyed,
living fast to die,
who would know things
change so fast?

It has been two years since I have seen you. Two years since we kissed, with pot smoke seeping out the side of our mouths. You called me a week ago saying that we should "chill" sometime and that you had missed me. I know you didn't, you were just looking for an excuse to be apart of something that was once beautiful. So we hung out and for a second it was just like old times. Smoke filled my car and we laughed at all the shit playing on the radio. But then that moment was gone, the photo still ripped savage by the calloused hands of time. I guess until we meet again, I will read my Camus and you will listen to your Sunny Day Realestate as time makes fools of both of us.