The Way Down
We break up at the top of Cadillac Mountain
while the summit disappears behind a lead nor'easter.
We stumble back, the cracking carpet of pine smells
like his musty 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 wicks
our stuck wool tongues.
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