your face? in my house?
the one of a distant pleasant memory
swirling like froth on a hot chocolate mind
you 70’s slacker
with the semblance of a petulant boy
but of inverse disposition
always smiling, making me smile
for days and days
stays the warmth of your open eyes
seeing and showing and making and being
summer tales of skinned dear
brought back to the barn, shot and dead
how you left before lifeblood spilt
tainting your view of the horned beauty that breathed
skinny, dreaded vegans eagerly ate the venison
knowing that fellowship foreshadows all isms
there was no kill like this since wild men reigned
with drums and shared lives, community beauty
to have had your eyes and feet this summer, friend
to have been there, but being there once having seen there
is my most prized pipe dream, kept alive by mountain slides
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