Sandy Beaches and Unmade Beds

We are on our way--

Instead of the road, I watch while
Shadows are casted from our surroundings
Projected into your incandescent eyes
I'm watching Audrey Hepburn, black-and-white,
Dancing wildly in the guise of trees bending
Over our travels; and thus I see forbidden roads;
I point them out as you unconsciously bite your lip
In my passenger seat you become alive
As the twists become turns
And through the rearview
I see windy vignettes of
Your soft hands clutching
The inside of my green (it's brown!) jacket sleeves
Dissolving into shivering,
A blustery, sandy beach giving way to an unmade bed
I'll pretend the radio dial
Is a corner of your lips
Hoping for different frequencies
In your smile, of a distant kiss
I won't stop turning
And together we search for the sweet sound
Of memory, of a passionate past progression
Head first into an unknown

We are going further, and conversely becoming closer.

Let's hope we never get to where we are going,
and thus let the cities that lay ahead stay in shadow.