Two and a half hours of dull landscape, I miss those rocky hills out your window..

My legs are crossed on this worn out chair
and I can feel every fiber scraping the skin,
leaving edges and memories engraved, which
I will rediscover years later unaware of
where they came from and how long they’ve
been lingering. It’s Saturday and you’ve gone
home yesterday. Icy roads and mix cds I
constantly make accompany you on the hours
long drive. I’d like to rake my fingers through
your hair but you’ve cut it all off and I am still
too far north. I can taste the sour oranges in
my mouth, whispering to my taste buds as
I yearn for your warm body next to mine,
shedding its warmth into my folds of Antarctica.
A week goes by on fast forward and I’m
still in reverse. My limbs backtracking to that
place between your sheets. I can feel your breath
moving my fine hairs as you sleep. Your
arms around me with my legs tangled backwards,
in-between and through the blueprints of yours.

It’s six pm and you’re placing sticks on the
hood of that blue Sunfire. I can feel the prick
behind my eyes but I smile anyway. You place
your palms, your long fingers, up against the glass.
I can’t hold the tears back anymore so I put the car in reverse and
I back out and drive away.

The sky is dark and lonely under this cloud of cover.
I’m waiting.