Here’s to you, old friend. Here’s to our mornings together Latte in hand, feet propped, reading. Here’s to my black-stained hands, my saliva fingers, Evidence of our daily love affair. Here’s to the quick, finite snip of scissors, My sad, hopeless attempt to keep you with me a little while longer, Or to shyly share you with others. You don’t mind, do you? Here’s to your limp, lifeless form. Your words, so timely when I read them, are never timeless And they yellow and fade with age. Only archives can save you now. Oh, you. You bring life to the dead and left-wing truth to the people. Biased you! I read between your lines. I made you. I know. But I don't mind, Like it even. We look at each other and share knowing smirks. Here’s to us, good friend, And our happy future together.