there is something about the wide open spaces
growing out into the distance
only to suddenly find resistance in a tiny cityscape.
freedom in the wind as it caresses faces,
as strands of red hair flow out into the open air.
and I watch as your
strong hands grip an old steering wheel,
sun-kissed skin peeking out
from around gold rimmed sunglasses.
my own hands find themselves resting on
your worn out denim jeans,
just below pockets- full of loose change,
hotel keys, and cigar wrappers.
celebrating the end of the world-
a collusion of supernova strength,
leaving the sound of wild horses
to reverberate out from our hearts
and fill these wide open spaces.
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