She said “drive safe,
I know you’re close,” and waved,
And waved me into the night,
The night that mollified some
Suspicion unfounded – a fresh wash of
What, yeah, anxiety.
You hate the word, as I do;
As I hate the feeling, you do too.
Its annoying like a burnt tongue, or
Debilitating like a burning mind.
Let us walk to the fountain, fresh,
drain the dregs, delay our death,
But only in that impending sense,
That sense that
This is
Something less than this,
Than this, than this…
Before I left
She said “drive safe,
I know you’re close.”
