To A(...)

You never told me I was so special
in our lives, the only one in our twenties.
Sun rise over your city a few minutes earlier.
When the poets peeped in ass each other,
looking like a golf ball. We played on words, 
the phrases were child's plays in our hands.
We looked for the meanings, of words,
of phenomena and ourselves, 
glanced against the same star
but rays were not the same.
What the hell was the matter? With us?
Besides us? Did it any fucking matter?
How are you feeling in your birthday?
Use the ellipsis, one more time.
Our memories are settling on the Waste Peak.