Thursday, July 04, 2013
Boy Racer
Was I so transparent?
Was my love for you so glaring?
Your reflection of it so bright,
Like moonlight on the hood of a Jaguar
Straining for a midnight drive?
Some part of what we won’t admit,
At least unto each other,
Has escaped us into the common discourse.
They’re talking,
But then they always talk.
I have no delusions as to where the road leads,
But I still dream of your growling engine,
The wind in my hair
And the feel of the stick in my hand.
