thoughts

the light in your eyes
sparkled with the reflection
of big-city lights.

the kind that were connected by telephone poles
and strung together by pieces of imaginary wires
and held, in awe, by your slightly-parted lips
and the shallow breaths you took, noting
every little bump in the road with a slight change in rhythm;

and we were soaring, flying, 80 miles down
a deserted road that was anything but deserted
(except for the old man, sitting discreetly
under the awning of the corner store,
one eye shut and the other open,
catching sleep while keeping guard, another
night spent in fear of being found out)
because the footsteps of those aimless wanderers
resonate from the pavement to the bricks that form
a perfect alleyway.

your signals were as mixed as the radio's -
never making up it's mind as you never made up yours,
where we should go, who we should be, what we should see...
engaged in argument with the air around you about
whether abraham lincoln really was a vegetarian or maybe
it was that he was a smoker or maybe it was that he
religiously drank coffee because it got rid of warts -
whatever path it was, i would pipe in every now and then,
and you would lead me astray, lips barely parted,
singing melodies like the sirens, pulling sailors away,

and maybe you didn't know the dangers of your song, because
when we collided head-on with the sand bar
(they call them "medians" where i'm from), you
removed your eyes from the lights, dumbfounded,
staring me down with the reflections, and i blamed it on
a turtle or maybe a dog or maybe i just said it was you,
the appearance of you, transformed into little particles
pulled and sewn together, and maybe you smiled and gently replied,
"thank you for not hitting me, i value my life"
but all i could think was, "it's not your life i'm saving, darling."