I’ve got a sleepy town in mind, quiet groomed from birth to the nines;

girl and her ghost who haunts me because both came from its Sunday drives.

Eclipse in
her eyes when she
looked directly
into mine, laughter
purer than basement

a sadness to her methodology that rivals all the time I’ve outlived her.

She’s the winter on my breath, the little village laid
to rest where we charted
poor quality maps
through moonlight.

Talking memories through the rearview mirror, my backseat conspirator, fiercer than the day she passed into legend.

I’ve a decade in her debt,
poured into poltergeists, but
aid and abett
one final
for the hundreth, thousandth
because the
last ride with you is
all I know.


3 thoughts on “Longhurt

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