Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Astral Weeks

She was pressed against my arm.

If I ventured into the slipstream

Her finger ran over the surface of my clavicle.

Between the viaducts of your dream

I could only steal glimpses of her from the corner of my eye; my attention forced onto the road ahead of us.

Where immobile steel rims crack

It was only a few months ago on this same drive . . .

And the ditch in the back roads stop

. . . that she said this couldn't be.

Could you find me

I can't help but to smile at that.

Would you kiss my eyes

Until the worry comes back.

To lay me down

That this could all drop out from under me.

In silence easy

The last, slow clicks of the roller coaster track.

To be born again

Where you can see for miles.

To be born again

Before the drop.

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