The Way Down
We break up at the top of Cadillac Mountain
while the summit disappears behind a lead nor'easter.
We stumble down apart, the spiny pine carpet
cracks and smells like his red Chevelle,
sixteen and kissing, air freshener swaying
to Led Zeppelin IV.
At the bottom the bedrock kicks us out,
mouths full of grit, salt air wicking
our woolen tongues.
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