This Car Almost Climbed Mt. Washington

As we still see
the same toxic sunsets
the rest of our senses
ignore time and miles
as only confessed
when the pen and sword drop
like the message she sent
when I ran out of wine:

"Sometimes at night
I don't know if I smell you
or if we entwined
along the way, Babe."

I answer with vigor
that's fueled by the spins.
A radio man on a torn battefield
beats wildly on his handset receiver
to call in an airstrike
and level the ground

but that napalm don't come
and the war rages on
without Heaven's mercy
rained down like the Rapture.

You're damn right we melted.
Those years of our lives
won't go down as Missing in Action
for me.