By Daniel Edward Moore
You asked me
to meet you by the pronoun tracks
where extravagant weeds growing through the rails
joked with beauty
about its wish to break in two
like chicken wings, with barbequed gender and cold light beer
and baseball caps
to fit any size head regardless
how plural the curls might be falling across your face.
Remember how moved
my insides were by sparks burning the rain.
With you on one side, me on the other, first the smoke,
then the tears,
appropriate makeup for any day
ending in the nameless sea.
Copyright Moore 2022