By Reese Brown
Upon these broken mountains we found a love unlike any other. Your sturdy back, stubble absent chin, my drifting thoughts wondering, “How in the hell do you shave so close, Jack?” A cigarette tucked between your lips, I remember plucking it with calloused fingers and taking a long drag. No cold Wyoming air can beat the warm smoke in my lungs knowing it was an extension of you. I hear you grumbling beside me: so stoic, so repressed, hm Ennis? These nights of ours ingrained into my skin like weathered tattoos. Like a tree I have my own rings, wrinkles from the stress of carrying this burden — carrying the secret of us. It’s all your own personal brand. Jack fuckin’ Twist. Sweat slick, kiss bitten lips, flushed cheeks, soft gasps that flutter against my skin — You’re beautiful, We’re beautiful, and at least we have the mountains.