Freeway

It is a long drive
out of this city,
a skyline scarred by worn-out dreams
and an ache for more intimate themes.

Lying in bed sheets that are not mine,
I fold my heart along the dotted lines,
as though to hide the salvage
from the worst of your scavenge.

In the darkness framed by four white walls,
he tells me about his broken sky
as I paint the inside of my mind
with the blue violet of Malibu in July.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s