old lovers, make good friends

The first time I saw you the moon hung like a pot from a rack of stars.The grass was wet and I was barefoot.We hefted my drum kit a thousand pieces into a small living roomI could taste the manic partygoers.I could feel your girlfriends stare.Fed back, out of tune randomness occurred. I called it heaven. They called it music. The floor bops and shakes with gyratingcostumed dancers. Spilled blenders and board games.Painting salted skin with magic marker. Your flat board male stomach is suddenly home to trees and my phone number.While trying to meet you I lost a floor tom.I didn’t see it for 3 months. I didn’t see you for 3 months.The best things are lost and found, on and off,all around but disaknowledged.Today I’m appreciating something old