The Passenger Seat

The view is sweet from the passenger seat. No maps to engage. No wheels to turn. Only a frosted pane cooling my right ear as I lean in to take in everything my eyes can consume. Strings of burnished hair cluster to the dampness of the glass as I rest into the world outside. My mouth finding the window to be a playful friend of fogged up drawing boards and finger trails, telling the town we just passed that I love you, backwards. My hand finds your hand. There is not a care in this succumbing soul of torn up pieces of fire. Not a worry, not a glare. You turn your head and smile. You smile for two cups of black coffee when I never reached for the sweetener. You smile for Junior's 'Boogie', for what Mama told Papa, and laugh at what we 'heerrrd!'. You smile at the snakebit wo-girl across from you. The one with waiting eyes and sharp nails that knows how to read the signs. There is a light that falls from your chin. The one I love to get tangled in. We glean from the stories of the past, both desperate and full of wonder. We scritch and scratch and squeal and seat-dance. I am but a floating cell in this chain of blissed out events. You drive, you lead...you guide us through the flat lands of hope and broken dreams. The road before us is new and long and longing to be traveled by a heart as yearning as yours and a fear as diminished as mine. Life is sweet in this passenger seat and I...I, my Lovelies, am in love.