There are four years between us,
but you remark that some days,
(which feel like months),
it feels like four hundred,
as you lay,
four inches from me,
in a single bed,
containing two singles,
stupidly supposing that nothing suspicious will occur.

I am listening to subliminals,
through earphones,
turned down low,
so I can hear all the effort you go to,
to pretend you’re asleep,
as you explore me,
and I feel like a fraud,
because I spent all day telling the walls,
carpets,
windows and washing machine,
that it isn’t weird for you to be here,
because you’re like a brother to me.

Some say,
that much like riding a bike,
you never forget how to…
Well,
as you may know,
I never learned to safely ride a bike,
but according to an anecdote you shared,
with the one who was merely a world apart,
many worlds ago,
that you then shared with me,
after sharing my bed,
and sharing a cigarette,
I am surprisingly proficient,
for someone with no balance,
no dexterity,
and no hand, eye coordination.
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