We would leave our ego’s at the door
muddy shoes.
Puffing joints twisted with conviction
hissing tranquility .
Our tongues dripping with authenticity and fear
we’d spit.
Casting our iron stomachs from scratch
cheap liquor.
Stumbling upon the true depths of the optic-nerve
the soul.
miss it.
I spasmodically catch myself drifting back up there
nobody’s home.
It’s been quite some time since you lived there
still, I visit.
Sometimes if I’m lucky I’ll still catch our vibes
floating around.
It won’t ever compare to the real thing
we shared,
times have changed but I’ll make do.
buzzin' 
I can feel all the overwhelming emotions as though I was right inside your mind as this was being crafted.
the pen did it
Beautiful and warm. These kinds of memories will always live on, especially in your prose.
I miss this place quite often.
Memories keep us going “)
Ill keep on writing as long as they are alive
Powerful.