Rural with Wonder

I want to lay in a field
with her
and stare up at the stars.

I refuse to trim my beard,
at least until summer hits hard.

"What's it like to be inspiration," I asked.
"It's conflicting," she said.

I write behind the bar,
and quit my quarter huddle hide,
the truth is a friend of mine.

I ain't got enough words
to set everything free.
I drown in salt.
she looks good in black.

we get southern,
bugle ballad of simple ways to live,
and when it hits, it will hit big.
country is sitting on the back porch,
we carry up some jazz,
and we go.

a case of whiskey.
a case of love.
I don't want to go to work.
I just want to lay in a field
with her
and watch the stars,
and hear the deer.