I Would Argue That This Is The First Poem I Ever Wrote

We did it just like the Belgians

we slept there

                     on the Belgium grass

                                                 zipped up inside your green tent

with secrets

                     like the one where I kissed your lips

                                                 when mine should have stayed dry

my heart felt like it threw up in my lungs

                               every time you left the tent

                                                  as I laid there naked

drenched in sweat

                      the sun blazed through the nylon

                                                 and you would return

with a baguette or two

                  depending on how you sweet talked the French boy

                                       and we would just lie there unzipped in your sleeping bag

tangled like the small black spiders that

                            dangled from the corners

                                           you told me you would eat them

words that tricked me into your arms

                     but every night we left that tent

                                         to disappear into larger ones

 I lost him every night

                    till we would climb back into the bag

                                                              with our secrets

and all I wanted was to

                     share with the world what we shared inside the tent

                                                                       but the last day arrived

you left without a kiss without a goodbye

                             just the tent on your back