between lads, lie, softly,
like a waterfall that is loud to hear yet oddly sensory
like love, be forceful
an indentation before speech
between the dance-moves become
a pain dried up, like a well that hasn't seen rain
like dewy grass, attend to the possibility
of containing little things; laughter and bugs, children and adults smiling
sailor, you are, between the lost lads
waves lapping on tomorrow relying on yesterday
you become tongues unspoken and bottles unbroken
not sealed or sent to perfection but a space
to find possible this leaning forward,
that prancing, that dancing, the friendship that stays.
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