In July
right after her name stopped showing up on your phone,
we climbed a mountain.
It was one of the hottest days that summer, and I think
we both thought it was a test.
Too much weight teetering on whether we could make it
to a plateau on that cragged mountainhill
and then retrace our steps on a weary car ride home
without airvent fans on full blast,
sending shivers down our spines to fill the silence.

Boots that didn’t quite fit, a cramp in my abdomen stopping me halfway for a moment,
we smelled like stale bugspray.
And I still felt the ***** of a mosquito pierce the forgotten spot
on the back of my neck.
Flushed from the waist up,
sweat pooling on the cleft of my lip,
a damp heart-shape on the small of my back;
your hand pressed a small pressure against the dip.

Never ones to let our successes cheer quietly,
we spread ourselves bare on a flattish rock.
Pretending to be naïve still, we soothed sweat-salted wounds with kisses,
while creating new ones until our kneesbackselbows wore matching rock-burn.
Something in the pinky-warm of my face made you love me again that day.
I know you never stopped,
but I also know you forgot what my laugh sounded like.

Summer 2013, we made the most of our rickety hearts.