I make believe for you
No sacrifice

There's the hat
In the corridor
Colored black
And Blue

There's the sour hour
Before the steps
Of the ancient church
That has no name

But yours.

Smell the green pepper chilis
Pulled from memory
That flips from burnt to worse
Right
In front of your eyes.

There's the prospect of love
Disguised as a
Promise.

As naked as a riddle.

As clothed as a book.

As obvious as religion.

Remember the wake of the river
We laid upon weekends and skipped afternoons.
You were the one that worried about soft
Surfaces and foggy friendships.

Take the memories
For granted.

They'll always be there,
Willing and waiting

To be extrapolated.

That's just what we do,

What I do.

It's great to see you.

It really is.

Really.