#475: The Platonic Love Poem

The optional prompt today from the glorious NaPoWriMo website suggested a platonic love poem. It took me all of about three seconds to choose a subject.

Adam

I don’t remember a moment
when it felt like I didn’t know you.
On some great day in the 90s
we met for the first time
and it was one of those rare
instances when a new person
seems immediately familiar,
instantly likable, made from
the same stuff, a lost brother,
or the platonic equivalent
of falling in love at first encounter.
We played the rock and roll
together for a few years
before you had to move to
the East Coast, where you have
mostly been ever since.
There may have been entire
years along the way where
we didn’t speak at all, but
every now and again there’d
be a call, a note sent, a gift
received, until finally, a year
or two ago, while still thousands
of miles away, we decide to form
an unlikely transcontinental band.
In that same way we did so many
years ago, we pick up as if
we had never been apart,
as if entire lives hadn’t been lived,
as if there was never a time
in history when we were not
making each other laugh,
making our weird music,
making our mark, for no other reason
than for the pure, stupid joy of it all.