next time you need me. i’ll be standing at the edge of your town, brown, behind heaving swarms of june bugs as the sun sinks.
when you need me with your skin soft and perfumed on the concrete, i will will myself to forget your form from behind the trees. i will drop my words and my gaze
with my dripping sweat like any old bastard, take a second look at my battered boots that are breaking up in the long shadows, and let it go
back towards the new moon rising over a warm-breathed forest that is vast and still in the evening heat.