So many things have happened since I last spoke
I've been flickering in and out of vision
Like someone with a box of matches
On a windy day

Instead of attempting to let oxygen relieve me,
I'm suffocated by the incessant smoking
But burn as I may, I only can become
A pile of ashes

Moonlight bent down gentle,
Kiss kiss on our foreheads,
As we wandered in the dark.
Trees on either side of us
The sea close enough
to hear its whispering
Of our nighttime escapades.

Grass up to the knees
Knelt before our feet.
A shack made up like a tee-***,
One covered in mismatched old dolls,
A poorly maintained vegetable patch
Then yours,
Temporarily,
An immobile House truck.

The door creaked open
Dust lay thick upon the air
Along with aging excitement
Of all who had ever stayed there
Before you.

It’s not much
You told me
It’s wonderful
I told you.
The body of the truck was shelves and seats,
Filled with the trinkets of foregoers,
Books and drawings,
Fairy lights,
A small bell
You moved through them all
To the front of the truck,
And climbing on a well positioned table
Pulled yourself up
To where you slept,
Above the driver’s caddy,
Below a wide skylight.

We got high
And drew designs
To tattoo on each other
In the morning.
You offered me your beer.
I accepted,
and fell asleep in your arms.

I lifted you as high as I could.
The next day my left arm ached,
And I half-smiled recalling why,
Proof I had done my job.

It came as no real surprise,
To be accused of doing nothing.
The only woman pallbearer,
Of course my body should be brought into play.

The aching of my arm
Was proof
That I didn’t let you down.
Until, of course,
That was the task at hand.