poetry with an old friend

Today I'm visiting an old friend from highschool. We used to run free during physics class to sit in the flowers and write poetry. To bitch about the world and how we were going to fix it, when we were niave enough to think that it could happen. She brings that old warmth to me. Inspires me to do the things we once did... write poetry, good, bad and indifferent about everything we saw and felt. Paint and run naked or paint naked or paint running or all of the above. That was a very happy time. I'm here with her. She's taking a shower and I curled up on her bed to write poetry as I always used to ... my first poem in many years. Take it for what it is --

I don't know when I'll see you again
during the soft brush of lips
meeting for the first time.
The thought lingered spoiling some hidden corner of my mind
but my heart never listened

I don't know when I'll see you again
the tear streamed face holding me hostage in the airport lobby
and freezing my hand to the handle of the jeep
engine running, shaking with the anticipation of the rough mountain road ahead

I don't know when I'll see you again
falling out of my mouth at 3 am
after the circling logic of how to bring North and South together
left nothing but this single thought in an awkward silence
my eyes too heavy to stay awake,
my heart too heavy to let them close.

I don't know when I'll see you again