Two skinny girls,
tanning on pine needles.
No room in their tent
We stack childish cards
Their older versions
Grab me
He’s dead
Embraced by stiff arms,
out of burden, not love
my breath held in,
sidestepping smoke
I trip,
lungs char,
I howl
won’t look in my eyes
holding paper knifes
still playing the **** game
I attend the funeral;
I delete their numbers.