Car Park

By Eleanor Keith

 

Among the stretched asphalt, 

tired with car exhaust and hot city breath,

the orange fury slips away.

 

Sun-soaked and sighing,

aluminum jaws take hold of white rays,

pushing weight to yaw beneath the peeping stars.

My feet on the dash, yours curled beneath,

we exist.

 

Mindless conversation swings from the rear-view,

a golden pendulum of pipe dreams and monotony.

I roll your coat threads between my fingers,

and you block the worst sun with your hand:

a testimony to our adjoined agendas.

 

This evening is a capsule.

A still, singular fragment of our warm breath

and tired touches,

watching hues of vermillion rest between the 

comfort of dirty leather seats and side mirrors.

 

Let us simply be forever.