Memory poem draft (1)

The first of what will be probably many, many drafts.

The tangle of ropes and mangled words
made way for a welcome handshake.
Words turned to laughs.
Laughs to hugs.
With the roar of the crowd not a million miles away.

O how it felt in that crowd, pushed
towards thunderous riffs.
Encased in his arms many hours later.
The buzz of only three hours sleep and
awakening to the midday sun.

Cheap coffee.
Mud-stained clothes.
Warm lips
and hearty laughter.

The music started and once more
his arms wrapped around me tightly.
Safe.
Protected.
Loved.

Rain fell light and quick.
We listened from our embrace as
our friends threw mud and talked
of the good old days.

A moment where everything was perfect; light patter
of rain and warm breaths. I think back to that weekend
of music all around us and waking up in 
his arms.

One day I'll see him again
and we'll listen to the rain again.
Honestly, I kind of miss him.