her hands on the throttle;
the "s" curves dizzy me-
my left brain ricochets off the right.
i would be anything you wanted me to be.
i would wear my proudest paint to match your speed.
and the turnpike has become steady.
the wind has shaded my cheeks to be akin to the color of your hair-
bruising my ego by merely being acknowledged.
i somehow hope i can hold a candle to all the other roads you've taken.
i hope i have grown into the girl you would call yours.
i ache to belong to you,
in ways that are beyond concrete.
but affinity street surely will find me-
if nothing else,
i have that.
you know the sidewalks there,
so you must know i will always be the pavement beneath you.
i will follow this road until there's a dead end.
your hands on the throttle,
after all.
so it's your choice to walk-
or to drive.
YOU ARE READING
speak softly
Poetryyou speak until your breath gives out, and the shallow huffs of words they never heard beg to be buried; but live on in the sidewalks. - - - prose/poetry
