I see right through you as we sit at a table tattooed with memories and martini glasses all in a line while cold french fries slither into everybody's hands.
I see all the faces of everyone I love best in all the world buzzing and settling and landing like agitated bees right in front of me holding smiles photo copied from easier times.
I am the drunken prophet and wisdom comes in sips and gulps.
My hair is striped with lessons learned.
My body bulges with unsaid judgements.
I turn my head to see you my friend chatting with your fingers while he stares through the reflecting glass holding onto tears for yesterday.
Everyone means well with stories of nesting birds in fluffy beds.
I watch and wait to be asked and once I start I have no idea what I'm saying nor how I know what flowers intend and cyclones think.
I just do.
I can tell by the nods and furrowed brows and dried up sweat that I'm onto something.
So I talk and stroke and cough blossoms while reminiscing over sawed off trees bursting into flames and my favorite weeds that produce red teacups and then I return home to flirt with the moon alone and wink at the weeping willow swaying to the water dance in her head.