And a Freight Train Piles Through It

By Jesselee Whitson;  Ollymarie@AOL.com
Date: 29 June 2000

And a Freight Train Piles Through It

And a freight train piles through it. The love making, the blanket that smells of us, the screen and trees. We are buried from it until that sound. The echo from the roar and push. He holds me like a father holds a mother. And I resort to double handed madness. (Overwhelming joy has always proved distraction.) I wonder how he knows to hide me from the steely clatter, and only feed me his happiness tongue to tongue. Cars tumble past like years over top of each other. And before the next whistle, we are asleep.

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