The muddy lake, low from lack of rain.
We sit in her pick up truck, radio going.
It’s fall, finally feeling like it, dark, cool.
The song is a love ballad; it’s soothing.
It’s also bullshit. Like out plans to leave.
I dare not tell her what she already knows.
That I am in love with her.
Still at the lake, the sun fallen away.
Trash and scrap wood, from the bed,
make a little fire, sparks to the stars.
We sit on the dropped tailgate, watching.
Mesmerized by flames, filth of our madness.
Stars such poor comfort for boredom, loss.
Baptisms happen here in the summer.
Our filth left in the mud, our sins washed.
But I don’t believe that now. I am losing her.
I am in love with her.