Many nights, the red lights,
my knees against the glove box
and your foot flat down on the pedal,
the heart of the engine humming,
my heart driving in you.
Or my bare feet in your lap,
arms in the stars like wires,
reaching, bridges opening to the sky,
reminders of unwanted invitations
sent from home. Each morning,
the steering wheel is a compass
pointing us away. My voice pressed
into the worn leather, and caught
in the pedal beneath your foot, even now.
my knees against the glove box
and your foot flat down on the pedal,
the heart of the engine humming,
my heart driving in you.
Or my bare feet in your lap,
arms in the stars like wires,
reaching, bridges opening to the sky,
reminders of unwanted invitations
sent from home. Each morning,
the steering wheel is a compass
pointing us away. My voice pressed
into the worn leather, and caught
in the pedal beneath your foot, even now.