Post mortem

I picked a winner,
you picked a winner.
Neither a conscious choice,
Place and time, place and time.

A night spent tracing lines
on unmatched palms;
Urgent, passionate kisses
on a road not yet built
Ha, how ironic.

We were too young, I was too stupid.
There were no cracks. Forever, they said.
A stupid idea, a party spent in two corners.
Pleading eyes, of friends, yours, and mine.
A party ended in smiles - of friends,
yours and mine.

The first, in many ways.
A given, we, within them, and without.
Lucky bastard, I
Blind fool, I.

The brightest moon, a hand held,
A confession, a moment of madness
A time of great understanding - you
A time of haemorrhage - me

A blip in the fabric of time
A blink in this movie of mime
And breaths were separated
by losers, subsequently,
being picked.

You picked a winner,
I picked a winner.
But I think you know
you and I were
just too strong
and two rights
might have just
made a wrong.

^