Last Eligible Donor

When I was six, I said I would marry you. You grimaced. You are my sister. I came across you in a dim booth at a rest stop diner sometime after graduation. Your eyes were cigarette butts in black plastic ash-trays. When I kissed your cheek it didn’t burn my lips. We didn’t fall far enough, did we? Plucked from the pitted earth only to be cast down again. Reduced to brown mash beneath autumn leaves. Sweet upon detection. Repulsive upon discovery. One disparaged lifetime has crawled into the next and now we sit, cinders of ourselves in a faded trailer minus wheels, weathered as sun scorched rebar; you with a heart diseased, and I wholly compatible.