Poetry For Everyday People
My Pretty Angel Friend
To think of the
map I have followed
here? All the time
spent moving, settling,
getting to know people,
monthly friends, people
in, people out, all the
musicians, models in south
beach, how close we were,
people holding on for
as much comfort as time
will allow,
we were
smart enough to drink wine
almost every night for three
weeks, you were gonna be on
the cover of Ocean Drive, I
was gonna protect you from
all that comes with fame,
bare foot in your little
fashion/party/studio/room,
we told
each other all our secrets,
you painted protest on your
feet, you knew eyes checked out
all of you, you read my poems
with such intense, you held my
notebooks like a treasure
(that melted me),
I remember our last night
of philosophical seduction,
you painted my Aids poem on
your white shirt, in neon green,
and we sat
in the darkness, doing shots,
smoking, talking about all
the things we'll never speak
of again, with such comfort,
knowing that beautiful
trust we had, two adult kids
and a three week sleep over.
I have
yet to see your picture in
one of those magazines but
I know that your still painting
protests on your feet, eating
cereal with m&m's,
effecting hearts,
it was a pleasure
being your brother
those three weeks
that was our life time
my pretty angel friend.
map I have followed
here? All the time
spent moving, settling,
getting to know people,
monthly friends, people
in, people out, all the
musicians, models in south
beach, how close we were,
people holding on for
as much comfort as time
will allow,
we were
smart enough to drink wine
almost every night for three
weeks, you were gonna be on
the cover of Ocean Drive, I
was gonna protect you from
all that comes with fame,
bare foot in your little
fashion/party/studio/room,
we told
each other all our secrets,
you painted protest on your
feet, you knew eyes checked out
all of you, you read my poems
with such intense, you held my
notebooks like a treasure
(that melted me),
I remember our last night
of philosophical seduction,
you painted my Aids poem on
your white shirt, in neon green,
and we sat
in the darkness, doing shots,
smoking, talking about all
the things we'll never speak
of again, with such comfort,
knowing that beautiful
trust we had, two adult kids
and a three week sleep over.
I have
yet to see your picture in
one of those magazines but
I know that your still painting
protests on your feet, eating
cereal with m&m's,
effecting hearts,
it was a pleasure
being your brother
those three weeks
that was our life time
my pretty angel friend.
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My Pretty Angel Friend
My Pretty Angel Friend
