. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

The Road Trip

.

Limbs aching to stretch,
Lips against frosted window,
My breathe forms a foggy film,
That briefest of canvasses.

I know you're saying something
............I'm busy watching wires zoom past
But I can't make out the words

............I think I left hope some miles back
............Dangling fragile and fickle from the nexus
............Before (almost) seeing it fall.

Tears trickle down the vapoured glass
Where I quickly squeaked my name
That is now short two letters, and still
I don't know why you're driving so fast.
.

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