Names filled with letters and liquor.
A twist tie twists and I hear Zest taking the
I want a county style day,
where those roads I love
take me from people I don’t.
The places are eager for touch.
My thigh draws his hand closer
our skin fusing under the heat of the windshield.
After the detergent is bought,
and the bookstore has pinned us against the wall
and takes our money, we go down the roads again
to laze and lounge
in the house of pasta we built.
But now the roads are curled away from me.
His hand has greater work than joy for now,
in places that growl low in the night.