it was hard to sleep in that old house, two summers ago
at night you and i would creep outside through the back porch
to walk along the dirt roads and smoke lavender cigarettes
discussing the day
we laughed as we stumbled through the dark with blankets on our shoulders
our voices drowned out by the drone of the cicada song
and the screams of wild pigs in the tall grass
i can't remember what we talked about, on those walks two summers ago
but i can remember the warm forest air and the taste of ash on my teeth
our two weak embers burning out together



















