Car Rides at Crossroads
-- Poems from the Road Trip Collection
You promised we would go for a car ride
a road trip until running out of fuel
I would be in the passenger seat, you behind the wheels
my hand gliding through your hair,
the air
through the window, my hair in the wind
because the roof would be open.
Instead...
driving on my own, hands grasping the wheel
running on a half tank and broken mirrors
a sound in the engine is rattling out a morse code
through the morning mist under the streetlight sun
I sense the air makes the tires sway, lifting us up
At the crossroad I flip a coin
About the Creator
Dark Constellations
When you can't say things out loud, you must write them down. This is not a choice, it's the core of life, connection. I just try to do that...
Missing a writing community from university days, come say hi:)
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