The Promise of Friendship

Even the most beautiful of littoral days

Screaming the sweet mango song out of my heart until it subsides

beneath the silver sea like a dream fresh-bouqueted beneath the drapes of a knight

Even the irreplaceable day whose departure wrenches

me across canyons via chafing zip lines with no landing point in sight

At least from the beginning it is understood: exactly 24 hours will be allotted

Me and every other sentient earthling, without prejudice, nor any chance of extension

Upon the predetermined strike upon the clock, the cut is clean

No messy hope that the same sun will whisker golden across my feet

any other morning

No chance of still or again means no shock, no mourning beyond

the heaviness of eyelids between waking.

But friendship, sunset-splattered and pomegranate-rich as it is

so it claims, makes no promises and sets no specific deadline

of abandonment and therefore every meeting of eyes or laughter

is a threat.

At any time the sun could fall

darkness a guillotine through my trust

It only took one cloud to change your high noon to dust

So I promise myself to never wake up again at all.

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