This One’s For You

Do you remember that little black car, driving miles from Fresno to Pismo, my bare feet out the passenger window, nails painted pink. It was sunny, hot. It was always hot. Do you remember that sushi, flower-shaped and salmon pink, you across the table making eyes at me, my hand on your thigh, laughing. Always laughing. Do you remember waking in tangled bedsheets, in California and Chicago, across the Midwest states, cold fingertips, naked skin. We knew things wouldn’t stay that easy. For this there are no road maps, no tire treads from red dirt to snow. If I could give you my heart like an atlas, I’d let your fingers trace the highways, the veins that make the backroads, the creeks, pauses where you’ve taken my breath. But until then I’ll close my eyes, wish away this Midwest winter, and feel that California wind on my face, bare toes extended out open windows, reaching for the sun.

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