Every day, except on the week’s tail,
We’d reunite afresh for the ninth time,
This period away from campus,
Behind this small, lonely brick house,
An outcast beside the field of active childhood,
Shielding ourselves within a concrete square
At the edge of the earth,
Where a new world always awaited
For its only population’s arrival
With a train still resting and rusting on old tracks.

I get caught in the moment of happiness.
Your back is up against the wall,
And I am your reflection.
My fingers are warm and moist
As your cold breath is beating on my neck.
“This is what love feels like,” you said surely,
With your cute high-pitched voice,
Adjusting your physique out of self-consciousness,
To attract my shy, indirect eyes for enhancement
When you were more than enough at that point in time.

Glistening sludgy flesh covered with soaked material
Clothed over your bewildered mind
As my heart tried pacing along with yours,
Aching to be one harmonization.
Your excitement was interrupted as you reached the ******,
Still craving for repeated relief and desired euphoria.
Cradling with naivety and no weight to carry,
It was easy to slowly sway like friendly fish at first,
Only a pile of shaky bones rocking back and forth in unison,
Just like the last dance you saved for me four years later.

Then two having the option:
To sit and recite sharp words and hide from selfish society, where promises would imminently be broken
Or lie and make blades dull and stare straight at the blue screen, where judgment would subsequently be found.
Those imaginative and nonfictional stories we told carelessly,
Seeking the sound of our comforting voices,
Just to create conversation and an entertaining impression,
Embodying our lives back into the kids we used to enjoy being.
After the parade, we knew we’d eventually sell out to a cliché.
Laughter would become closure after your departure with the bees,
And our sacred place would transform into any other ghetto by one of us.

At the end of the adventures of Lovita and Stopacho,
I couldn’t resist inhaling missed, edible hope,
As I perpetually did of poetic infatuation,
Near the spot which changed my life alone with you.
I must keep this setting alive for both adolescents,
So we’ll never die like your presence did,
Most importantly, because there was truth in all of that.
Maybe an alternate universe is reserved for us at the same disfigured location.
Those were the most delicious slush floats ever though.
Now they’ll never taste ideal again. Never again.