Good Little Matey

This subject returning as coda,
but if it seems as motif,
spit splattered ear,
full of nostalgia of and for it,
paper trailed through strips
of Wetherspoons receipts,
then I was here - when?
And we spoke of this then too?

And honestly, it's alright mate,
I know how it looks,
I have gone and faded,
but somehow you've kept me right here,
the sad spit reminds me,
and frost soon becomes dew,
settles down again some night,
it forms the closeness,
that crept through the creep of winter.

Yes, we're family now,
dare we leave ourselves,
a dampened chill for our bones.