Childish

You bring the child out in me

The giddy joy,

that you too, know what I know.

The did you knowing,

starting my sentence

to entice your attention.

The autumn laughter,

of make-believe.

 After watching a hidden film, only we know.

The splintered hands and strained arms

from sanding dead tree flesh for a shelf.

To hold all the masterworks you’ve shared with me.

The basement-dwelling sniggers

From nocturnal storytellers

Dice rolling and video gaming

The philosophical discussion on a story written for children

The boisterous car rides bellowing with noise from films freshly watched

The one a.m. conversations about how we really should go to bed

But I wanna say one more thing about Hellboy

The conviction to post a rant on my opinions on scorpion’s costume

The ability to admit that there are issues with those in the past

Even if you won’t admit it as well

The late nights of internet research over pointless things

The secret crafting to make you a gift

The joy of knowing a reference only we know

The sadness when we differ

When we drift to different lands

When we are alone

But the joy when reuniting.

And talk till the new dawn about Spider-man

The only thing important is that it is you and me