He was a lit wick
at each end,
... lost a few screws each time the wind blew.
... wore a steel-toe military combat boot
on his wrong foot!
... said it was agent orange ...
water torture ...
Vietnam made him sink!
She was on an open book,
rare print;
the kind you couldn't put down.
Both sought after high ground.
... Found themselves shelved between stones
in a chard space.
Nothing could erase their childhood.
It swallowed every chapter,
just behind the plot,
laughing innocently
at the wheel
while pages turn
too fast to make any sense
like his chaos,
she was brash and loyal;
... swayed a little off-center,
and he was a lit wick at each end.
... lost a few screws each time the wind blew
He had the perfect vice.
she poured him over ice.
He couldn't sleep at night.
She made it alright.