Slapped Granite

You drew me out,
through dappled and pocked skin.
Led me upland out
By the place where they would interrupt
The cold, clammy granite.
Slapped granite
Scarred
In a barter to locate our passed.
I appealed to a future in the racket,
Entomb my future.
And we moved with the intention,
The intentions of those we had read.
With supplies and plans.
Ephemeral was the time.
You had me listen as though
There had been none before.
No sound.
Grit on the ground.
And wet dispatched.
Sedimenting company engraves.
Now clotted with residue.
We stalked a line in the padded sod leaves.
Curved to the overpass.
And hung we,
Peered for the edge
At the outrage of our urge.
We retreat and meander,
Once more, to the eaves.
You would covet from me
And elicit my catholic shame.
Deftly.

Liquored and Split

A crescent pitch
Swing from the beam
And other nightly shenanigans
Which we committed.

A forlorn tale
We each drawled
Confessions on clear nights
Into crisp moon air.

The last drop lingered
In conflict with your tongue
Drawn out descriptions
And escaped words.

Until
Into the stupor
They fell, tumbled
And dreamt upon
The galvanized bond.

Three Doors

Grip behind my knee,
curtly and firmly.
And we turn our gaze to the rolling,
Tree coated landscape.
The dirty, clogging smoke
Hangs low above
As the horizon smoulders.

You are the heavy,
Hanging heat of the evening
And I am the east.