Window rolled open
westward wind whips by
I am drifting backwards (too often)
brought on by a change in song on the radio
I keep rolling forward
4 wheels in motion--not my choice
a meloncholy taste in my mouth
I can't seem to spit
roads not taken, thoughts you leave behind
this blue presses down
like inky prints on paper
billboards and roadsigns blur
I smell saltwater in a memory
this sloping road suddenly clears
I glance up to the reflection
and there you are...
thumb slightly out, sly grin
tires screech, time stops and I slow.
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