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To mis Amigos

There is a love no phrase defines

Eight letters mean nothing

but what you take from them.

And some take none.

So I'll take a few more letters

cos' eight seems not enough,

to tell of a love that rests

high above the lust

of a high school romance.

This is a love where you dance

through the night

with your shirts off

to music that doesn't even play.

You sneak abouts here and there

and hit bowls against the grass

and glance on lakes at night

the ultimate paradox shining

in mankind. Belligerent fights

with brooms ensue to be ended

by boxes of cardboard pizza

or red pepper pita and hummus.

Your parents say, "those guys again..."

And you say, "Hey! you're talkin' bout' my friends here."

So you go.

You take rides endless it seems.

Take trips to places before unseen.

Talks of blabber and sensibility.

Snuggle seshes end in wrestling matches.

If you wake up and your jaw hurts,

you and Maxy probably got drunk again.

If your clothes smell a bit,

chance that Andy dropped by.

If your mind's been blown

Mack and Will laid with you

by the pond for hours.

If you feel a love stronger

in your soul, Dbake's nearby.

If you laugh your *** off for days,

Dusty probably told a joke

or pulled his pants down.

If you can't wrap you mind

around some fact or story,

Bankman must have sprouted

out some MIT engineering bull

you wish you could understand.

But who gives a hey when

you're out chilling with the bros,

brews or not, smokes or tokes or nokes,

there is always a brotha out to chill.

And to you, I say

NAMASTE

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Written by
b-woods
American
Published
Sep 13, 2010
Lines·Words
51·284
Permission

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