hole in the tent

the last time i loved you was on the mountain.
in the dark, we watched the insects swarm our tent. 
mayfly & mosquitoes. they formed a chorus
to sing about us. watched us in our sleeping bags.
the dark out there was thick like cream.
my heart, a pocket watch. i feared all night
what would happen if a hole ruptured 
in the tent's thin skin. you assured me 
that was not possible. it rained the next day
like goats & frogs. the mud laughed at us. 
i wanted you to be someone you were not.
did you crave the same from me? i was lonely
& so were you. sometimes love is just loneliness
given direction. i do not say this to sound cynical 
but just to say that standing in your mouth
was just standing in an old church. stained glass.
the sun in our eyes. the rain made the tent humid.
all i wanted was to walk until my legs left me.
the following night there was a hole in the tent. 
i tried to cover it with my thumb. the bugs found it.
i wept. the rain continued. the bugs entered.
filled our lungs. bit our ears. i rang like 
a struck city. telephone poles in my teeth.
in the dark i crawled to the car. i had told you
i was just going to pee in the woods. 
in the backseat i revealed in security. no wings
just my shrinking face. the thrill, gone. the forest
deepening around us. i wanted us to work. i wanted
a life without skin. i counted my bites like
rosary beads. three around my wrist.
another four on my neck. when i returned
i did the same to you. you had patched the hole
with duct tape. the chorus swarmed it still. 
waited for the threshold to give. in the morning
you made thick instant coffee. i went down
to the edge of the lake. the insects were 
screaming into the dawn. i joined them.