i-80, heading east

cold wind rushing
against the old pickup truck
playing sad songs on the radio.

cool skin
warm touch
your hand on my leg
right where it’s been for the last hundred miles
right where it belongs.

steal your coat for a pillow
doze off to sleep
every streetlight catches
my fingers over yours

your thumb tapping out the well-known rhythms
my knee its drum
each movement spreads a smile across my face.

we’ll be home soon
your hand will drum on my knee
for the next hundred miles
and my smile will stretch
a hundred miles too.

February 2012

© Charlie Pevensie


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Filed under poetry, short stories

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