Mountain Dew poured over
beautiful, crackling ice. Outside:
fog fog fog. Rain, sleet for days.
The valley is saturated, can take no more,
and I forget what her hands look like.
crown after crown
my boots crack
mud and ice,
hard wind on my back
like a fucking whip.
She once said: I’d kiss you
in all the corners of the devil’s den.
On the longest night of the year
the valley echoed with silence,
darkness deepthroating the past.