Do you remember, how we were boys? Not even
Three months ago, I’m sure we were only lads:
Drunk as lords and pissed as paupers, us.
At the pub, you held my hand in the darling fire
To prick me awake: you held my hand so close,
Just daring me to feel that flesh again.
That night we walked on brick walls by alleyways
Like trapeze-teasers, dancing with our deaths
(Or perhaps grazed knees, in truly boyish style).
Do you remember, having sod all to do?
Aware incuriosity will kill you,
That risk is all? The tightrope-dancing, home,
You right ahead of me, daring us to rush and
Shouting at the stars, “There is no God, I say!
I do not believe in someone else’s Heaven!”
Then walking home, boyish, under them – unaware
Of the benevolent, answerless silence above us.