I can see it now:

we’re in traffic,

in the left lane

because driving fast with the windows down

is your favorite thing

(you like watching my hair

become a tangled disaster

in the loud wind),

and my feet are on the dashboard.

The radio is on but neither

of us are listening to it.

You groan about the traffic

and I flick your sunglasses

off the bridge of your nose.

It’s a good day,

you say,

a good day whenever

we’re together.

The summer sun

is beating down

through the windows and onto

my pale,

pale,

skin.

The traffic clears up,

the sun is moving inch by inch

and now we’re soaring.

Soaring together.