My Rubber Combat Girl (*prose* poem)

She had offered me a ring, pressed it close in passion’s heat against the black birthmark beneath my skin only we knew about. The proposal had been a long time coming.  Suggesting a honeymoon near her home in a cozy landfill where the birds had grown quiet with rain and oil, I hesitated, knowing that with our love there would be no turning back.  "A place where time sleeps", she said, holding our mistletoe of shredded white tree shrubs over my head, sprinkling silver powder and ribbons of hot moonlight.  Drawing close, we embraced: firm and supple as steel, hands obliging as gripped rubber, we drew close.  I pulled her tongue back and the chambers of my heart pounded: a cold wind passed as her six black eyes fell together.