car ride confessions

a deliberate start.
like the beginning of an age-old story. 
where does this road lead? 
oh, just around the corner. 
where everything is familiar again,
and there are no wrong turns. 
sitting close to you, hands politely in my lap,
i wish for every light to be red. 
the clock on the dashboard
dutifully reminding us
of all the time we never had. 
weaving in between traffic, 
our stories follow along faithfully. 
words to fuel long-forgotten feelings. 
and seatbelts to hold you back. 
unplanned road trips
that start out as exciting declarations
and end in silence. 
the journey is the charm, they say. 
as if the destination didn't matter. 
i would go to the end of the world with you, i say. 
but this is the end of the road, you remind me. 
your new car truthfully counts the miles. 
another reminder
of how much in love we will never be. 

like poetry walking around

like starting a sentence with a preposition, 
he is a raging poem. just walking around. 
the rhymes, sometimes perfect, down to a T.
and sometimes, laid out like bodies in a car crash. 

he is that perfectly innocent question,
that starts with who, what or how. 
and suddenly becomes why and why not? 
that balanced sentence with verbs and praises,
that sometimes fades off into dots of silence. 
it's impossible not to take a pause,
a sharp breath in, when he looks at you. 
like adding that decisive full stop,
just so you can begin all over again. 

and with every breath comes words
that lift you up. or put you down if you choose. 
even his sneeze is like a subtle hint of sarcasm. 
his smile commands countless lines of poetry. 
if he looks away, it's like turning a page. 
a deliberate breaking of your focus, like your heart skipping a beat. 

when he holds your hand, 
it is like a song. 
and when his eyes flash in anger, 
it is a rock ballad, crashing into you, hooked forever. 
his dreams are like a chorus. 
the same words repeating truthfully after every four beats. 
the most memorable part of a verse, they say. 

words are all i have, he offers.
if only he knew.
he is a rollercoaster of a poem,
just walking around.