Route 66

I like to think of my shoulders
as small corners
meant for your hands to turn
and take the wheel.
“Steady now,”
with eyes straight ahead,
the road runs smooth
like newly laid cement and
we’ve got the windows down.
And all my thoughts of you
are like this;
like a road trip across
a thousand different landscapes
while we watch for
prairie dogs and tumble weeds,
and have left behind the cities
in favor of open roads
that are no more than
two lane highways dotted
with endless yellow lines,
with time to take the scenic byways,
as many as we like,
just so we can remember
how free it felt; youth,
and how like a new rain smells,
we never forget.

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