BUDDIES

Moon's midriff chequered with light blue letterboxes and legos Carbon-dating the museums of our miniature hands riding the nightingale jukeboxes, Contoured in concertos of glacier nightgowns and batmobiles... A topcoat of my father's snickerdoodle smiles sowed and watered beneath the morning's stale smile With a pretty loud "HEY KIDS ! Time for breakfast ! WAKE UP !", with mumbles meandering with magpies in and out. He laces lifetimes out of the first the letter of his name, in macrames of my mother's myrrh murmurs, Secretly setting up the kitchen table, for the upcoming date night to be stencilled forehead to forehead. He laces lifetimes from roasting the ristretto beans in an open fire, From sketching the summer sunbursts and the sunglasses in permafrost pitter patters, From crocheting dad jokes in matchbox-built bus rides emptying the crimson clouds of January. Plucking promenades outlined in scarlet raindrops playing leapfrog under saccharine sunbeams, Watching over me as I give climbing the bonsai trees higher than the neighborhood kids a first try. Untwining anadems of one semicolon, instead of drawing a line of full stops stomping at the soles of our shoes, Remodelling the lifeless bits of "Life On Mars". I guess he would love to know what life on Mars would taste like... He would kill to be in those batmobile treks and those glacier concertos wearing nightgowns, And most definitely he would give defying gravity another try beneath those bonsai trees alongside with me. I would kill to look almost like him, to sound like him and to be like him. I would kill to try saying his favorite catchphrase over and over again "HEY KIDS ! Time for breakfast ! WAKE UP !" I would kill to try his beret on, look at the skies and wonder "Hey there Dad would you stay forever young ?"