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 rank carpet of pine
cracks and smells like his musty Chevelle, sixteen,
kissing, air freshener swaying to Led Zeppelin IV.
At the bottom the bedrock kicks us out,
mouths full of grit, the salt air
wicks our wool tongues.
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