Words Smelling of Kraken

  • to A. Stevens

Go back to a time where you and I

were close. Go back to the late nights

of 1980s horror and modern

zombies. A time where the smell of cigarettes

meant friendship and a night of sharing rum.

I pretended I wasn’t allergic to cats

just to see you. Go back to a time

where you and I would write meaningless

lyrics and play Mortal Kombat upside down

until eyes stung and minds fogged,

the world forever spinning. Sharing a mattress

for the night, reading graphic novels

until the morning sun told us it was time

to sleep off the exhaustion. Too much

liquor was in your system and

words spewed with affection like a broken

faucet that I adored. Go back. Those 4am

conversations that were made up of

falsely autocorrected words. Sleep

deprived laughter and becoming the zombies

you and I would watch on the small, flat

screen TV, if only for that day.

Go back to a time, when you still lived

close to me, and not across the country.

You had casually mentioned it one day

not expecting me to be upset

so I wasn’t – not to your face.

Go back to when you and I

were close. When you are I were like

brother and sister and I still had you

as a friend.

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