Wednesday, June 13, 2007


He smells of coffee and cigarettes as he grips the steering wheel, one handed stiff armed, driving 80mph down the empty four-lane. Windows rolled all the way down, my hair a whirling dervish in shuttered light of overhead lamps. Our faces small pages of a flip-book as our laughter dances around long silences. His desire to touch me, kiss me evident in the way he leans into me around the sharp curves of the highway; In the casual way he misses my exit and smiles from the side of his mouth. I let him close enough to feel the heat of his skin sweltering above the oppression of this southern night, close enough to keep him coming back for parts of me he can never have. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Amarillo Bay 2/08

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