Farmhouse Model T

I'd talk about old movies
I liked when you nodded off.
When I said silent era
You'd start snoring and I'd notice
A ragged cobweb blowing like hair
On the offbeats of your breath.
It would cling to the pincushion
Headliner of the old Model T
Where we had arranged ourselves
In the backseat.

Knowing that it couldn't happen anywhere
But the farm on this day
With the sun freezing to the snow
And the freeze seeping into the shed,
I'd finally be silent myself,
With your head on my shoulder
And my head on your head.