some may call it a goat farm but i called it march beside you

i love you more than that train car
& the things you made me feel in it
made me feel like the train car
(stained by clay/spring heat)
(filled with abandoned wasps’
nests you filled with cigarette
breath til it dripped out like
spit down your pretty mouth)
(like some day a couple o’
kids might just fall in love
within my red rotting wood,
their hands not touching but
held somehow–i remember
something in a science class
about how we’re all always
touching if you think about
the body as a magnet &
since i’ve met you i’ve been
thinking about my body as
one of those little wooden
train cars with the magnets
on either end & you as a
train car with a magnet on
both ends & my heart’s a
little kid with hands that
keep pushing us together
somewhere behind or
beyond the tracks, beyond
the smoke)