if you're not careful we'll end up proper friends
in our past lives we might be
generals poring over parchment,
victories marked in red and
losses with death,
fighting the sort of war where you were
a silhouette in the rolling dust
and clashing metal was your laughter.
if we fought at all it was
with secret sweaty smiles
(but not exactly the good old days)
and i was sure you wouldn't hit me
except accidentally but
somehow i managed to drown in my darkness anyway.
somewhere along the way Karma made a fool of us,
and now we are merely
well, sort of friends i suppose
with a wrinkle of the nose
to mean i don't really care that much,
so that we can live out history, change it with
a turn of the heel, mine faster than yours.
don'tlookback i'm muttering 'cos
if i did i might discover that
you were never there in the first place,
perhaps it was a dream, one of
fighting, for everybody and for ourselves, for
boundaries defined by yesterday and a sentry
& ours are constantly-pushing-moving-changing
and no matter how close we stand they
do not Intersect
because we are well, sort of friends i suppose,
we were enemies sparring with mirth,
never Venn diagrams.
but lest you smile i will forget my
armor, that fancy ornate secret,
then you would know, you would know who
do you need ambassadors?
i can hear your friends whispering, whispering, whispering.