Brownsville

The pink sun reflects on the dark pond. 

I hold the fishing pole between my thighs and lean against you. 

Your warmth spreads through me as I slip into the pond.

Fish we couldn't catch swim past as I sink to the bottom.

I surface two hours ago sitting in the passenger seat screaming lyrics.

Fields of amber you call gold surround us.

Two hours to a historic district with the most beautiful house I've seen. 

We walk though the door and down the hall and through our lives.

I place my hand on time and whisper in your ear.

I'll make a home hear and you'll make a home in my chest.