Your dog was shedding along with your skin,
which was ripped open by a sheet of metal beside the railroad track.
I could feel the sweat from your neck descending upon my chest,
and the friction between our surfaces was wearing thin.
The jagged edge of the rock I was lying upon started to gash the small of my back,
and it was the most satisfying pain I had ever internalized.
I remember wishing I could bottle the soreness up;
somehow limit its entirety of movement.
Barking began to flood my ears
and your nails dove deeply into my thighs.
It was pouring and the trees within the woods were providing little for cover,
and even so, I stayed there, so still, and let the water falling from the clouds like tears drown my body to the depth of its core.
The air was thick,
and in the moments I could breath,
my throat would close up to the humidity.
The black of your hair blocked my peripheral vision, and I had an undying desire to see how high the river was, see how high you were.
The truth is, I think I still do.