Drive

Being with you was like getting in a car

with no destination. It was freedom. It

was blue skies and rural landscapes. It was

no time limits, hitting the gas pedal to head south.

Or west. Then north. Or was it west? It was

driving in circles til the tires

drew maps on the pavement. It was

truck stops and gas station coffee.

It was windows down,

wind dancing between us. It was

writing love notes on useless road maps. It was

knowing we’d have to pull over and rest eventually.

But even resting meant memorizing

each other’s physical details. We ignored

the speed limits, the work zones,

the hazard lights, the dashboard. We

sang til our throats burned

and the only way to sooth them

was to drink in each other. We talked philosophy

and joked about our future children,

Tilly and David. We didn’t know where

those winding roads and cloverleaf turns

would take us, never touching the

brake pedal. It was running

til the gas light glowed orange. It was

skidding into that dead end.

Being with you was like

getting in a car heading for

destination nowhere.

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