dichotomancy

So its serious.
So I've certainly slipped sidelong into something serene,
soaked in satin saliva,
blithely slithering somewhere terrifying,
a salamander on coals can choose the fire or the cold.

A soldier sometimes speaks to me of skilled sushi slavery
then bravely drags flags through Baghdad's ragtag.
He says the men in minarets see the sun set last,
and that the air up there comes somewhere directly from the past.
They speak in words, and in architecture as old.
A salamander on coals can choose the fire or the cold.

So its serious for him as well, I consider;
placed in a place where man's works are just litter
opposed to my nose-to-nose closed-mouth morning kisses,
the explosions grow closer than previous misses.

Steer it back some years:
we were peer-to-peer ear-to-ear near,
never wore fear or failed to appear
severely at your nearest mother-fucking function,
he and I were two guys names in conjunction.
With ampersands in our grand plans, we rolled:
two salamanders on coals could choose the fire or the cold.

And all told, in retrospect I reflect directly on the growth we could both quoth on the epitaphs of one-another,
brother,
friend,
summer ends on friendship bliss sailing into sunset.
Don't forget
this ghost-boat you've loaned me only gets more lonely
as my homely life pulls me towards old.
A salamander on coals chose the fire or the cold.

So its serious.
At last. It never was before.
Our stories were folklore with humor at their core,
and now with life looming like a tumor, dooming, sure,
I say we still have many tales untold.
A salamander on coals can choose the fire or the cold.