Miles

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Miles (about a god brother)

Behind his butter slick smile
Beneath his creamy comfort food words
it lies,
that tarnished beast.
He let it in but never let it out.

The liquid laziness of grief
the delicate deceptiveness of loss
the existentialist who got it wrong
still waiting for Godot.

He fell in love with the
freedom of the absurd
and the hedonism of the surreal.

He let himself drift on the dark
sunless waters of meaninglessness
sail on the breeze of apparent detachment

But pain shines on,
a star in his black sky
glinting off the inky seas
revealing a tear on his sugared cheek.