Green and red streetlights,
Blink through the rain spotted glass in your windshield,
They trickle together like a child’s watercolor paint set,
But I’m focused on your weighty presence in the driver’s seat.
The music falls and rises,
Like a salty, sweet ocean tide in my ears,
And all I see,
Are your veins bulging through the skin on your arm,
And my fingertips tracing them like they’re braille to my body.
In this place,
My heart is bigger than my bird like frame,
I can hardly breathe,
And the whole world becomes slow motion around me–
Tomorrow isn’t real, God hasn’t exhaled it yet,
The fights we’ll have at six months are whisked away like smoke,
There no such thing as the lights behind your eyes dimming,
As you lose your interest in me like an old set of keys,
All that exists is this year long second.
And I’ll forever remember the image,
Of my eyes burning on your skin,
As you take your eyes off the steering wheel,
And glance in my direction,
And I’m not going anywhere.