Friday Night

flipping through pages of poems,
trying not to get too drunk,
but already here,
at the avenue of three whiskeys
and comedy.

I smile like crazy when it thunders,
and keep going with unlocked doors.

You were right and I was wrong,
times eleven and a hurt shoulder.

her Tokyo hands woke me in the couch
when I was dreaming in cartoons,
and there was nothing I could do about love,
but float above,
like a goddamn full shadow.

so keep me keen and close,
keep me the most,
but don't admit it to friends,
because it will end.