Winding Roads

Here is a poem that I wrote a while ago...about a guy...that doesn't mean anything to me anymore. But I still like the poem.

It's funny how a poem can capture a feeling, a moment, that was so real at the time, but as time passes, is no longer ours to feel. When I read this poem, it is like I am looking at a different person, not who I am now, but who I was in that moment in time, a blip of time quicker than the open and close of a butterfly's wings. A speck, really.

Winding Roads

The firefly beat from your car speakers
drums my heart, slow and sure,
flickering on and on
never off
circling insistent rivulets in my ears
incessant prods at my heart
melding with raindrops on the windshield
as you drive down country roads
passing rust-wire fences
shivering grass fields reflecting
the sky's cloudy dullness.

And your car smells so good
like you
and your scent intoxicates
creates
makes
its own music around my head
pricking pinpoints in my spirit
never before touched, never understood,
never knew existed
to burst their wrappings and
dance
become
live

The road winds past houses hidden in thickets
sheep grazing the rain's goodness
and the music intensifies
flies
underlies
builds upon itself growing stronger
the way I want us to be.
Keep driving, never stop.
If circles encompass our lives,
we never need go back.