you ride your bike to the park bruised with 9pm the maples draped with plastic bags shredded from days the cornfield freshly razed & you've lied about where you're going you're supposed to be out with a woman you can't find a name for but he's waiting in the baseball field behind the dugout flecked with newports torn condoms he's waiting with sticky palms & mint on his breath a cheap haircut & his sister's levis stench of piss rising from wet gra** it's june after all & you're young until september he looks different from his picture but it doesn't matter because you kissed your mother on the cheek before coming this far because the fly's dark slit is enough to speak through the zipper a thin scream where you plant your mouth to hear the sound of birds hitting water snap of elastic waistbands four hands quickening into dozens: a swarm of want you wear like a bridal veil but you don't deserve it: the boy & his loneliness the boy who finds you beautiful only because you're not a mirror because you don't have enough faces to abandon you've come this far to be no one & it's june until morning you're young until a pop song plays in a dead kid's room water spilling in from every corner of summer & you want to tell him it's okay that the night is also a grave we climb out of but he's already fixing his collar the cornfield a cruelty steaming with manure you smear your neck with lipstick you dress with shaky hands you say thank you thank you thank you because you haven't learned the purpose of forgive me because that's what you say when a stranger steps out of summer & offers you another hour to live.