The last memory

It’s sand, dirt,
and something warm and sticky
dripping
into my eyes.
I see
parts of me
littered in the rubble.
Gunfire
continued.
I fall to the ground,
a sharp buzz
rings in my ears
as my mind shuts off.
 
A warm evening,
we were playing in the kitchen.
She was baking a cake,
or was trying to.
I threw her on the messy floor,
planted
a hasty kiss on her mouth.
She pushed me against the table
and doused me
in flour dust
again.
 
That evening
we chased a bandicoot in the yard,
laughed
until our stomachs ached,
drank vodka with cranberry juice,
danced, told each other
lewd jokes,
made love
four or four and a half times,
threw up
on the heirloom rug,
laughed again,
and stared at the sky
as the stars
dissolved
into the warmth
of the closing eyelids.
 
The horrors,
the giggles,
the peppery stars,
the half-baked cake,
an eternity.