a poem

[emchy]

Remains

Lost photos of you
Linger in my mind
Crows feet wrinkling your cynical eyes
Deeper than they appeared at 26
With that rare smoky smile
So often forced
Wishing
I’d just take the damn picture
“we have to get
to the show”

The whiskey
The slow and the stumble
Years pass us
into strangers
We talk
Like phones cutting out
Hearing every fourth word
As our friendship fades
Into our alcoholic past.