US 60
Drive slow on the wind that carries you home.
With sweat down your back and the speakers beating down
like an audible heart attack.
Hold the ocean above your head before it falls.
Taste the rain, feed the exit signs.
Blank flaming metal wire exhaust.
And I knew that it would be this way as soon as I saw your eyes.
Twin reflections of the love you've lost.
The freckles in their olive skin: kin to the beautiful flaws of a life once lived in days familiar with the taste of disgust.