Love is a Driver Without a Passenger
I met you outside
to return your apartment key.
There was a warm, August rain between us.
You laughed as I high stepped bare foot
through grass and mud to your car.
It rained down on everything.
Claps of thunder sounded.
I couldn't hear a thing but your laugh,
or see a thing but a slight profile,
distant like the faded faces on coins,
through the car's fogged and cracked window.
You drove off as I stood there.
I couldn't help but wonder
what your car looked like in the
bumper to bumper world
of traffic in the rain.
10 years ago
No comments:
Post a Comment