70 more minutes
until you take me home
in attempt to avoid my mother's fury.
driving past eighteen wheelers,
compact cars
and terrible yellow pick ups
pounding the ceiling with each broken headlight.
you,
comparing me to a boy;
the curiosity of 6 year old
with a libido like i just turned 13.
me,
correcting your grammar
with each passing story,
punctuating every sentence with a laugh.
your headlights invade the black space
on the road as you crest the hill,
taking me safely home,
leaving me 24 hours
to try and escape to you.