alice_fulton jennifer What I Like Friends--the face I wallow toward through a scrimmage of shut faces. Arms like towropes to haul me home, aide- memoire, my lost childhood docks, a bottled ark in harbor. Friend--I can't forget how even the word contains an end. We circle each other in a scared bolero, imagining stratagems: postures and imposters. Cold convictions keep us solo. I ahem and hedge my affections. Who'll blow the first kiss, land it like the lifeforces we feel tickling at each wrist? It should be easy easy to take your hand, whisper down this distance labeled hers or his: what I like about you is 000930 what's it to you? who go blather from