and we drove
with the windows cracked just so;
enough to hear the walls of waves;
enough to steal stray rays of light;
enough to breathe the blowing breeze
of the shore,
of the speed,
of your love over me.
we drove;
not to anywhere at all,
but to everywhere at once.
YOU ARE READING
writing the left
Poetry"writing the left" is 2022 collection of micropoetry by h.h. | @bull.sees.red