we hit it where the 5 melts into the 210,
weaving past cars like streaks of oil
silver, gleam, white bounces
chrome glints off streetlights,
yellow lines flicker and slide away.
we slow to the residential streets again,
you rest your glove on my knee
and your lips to my collar. stoplight, go.
60 to 30, to neutral, back to drive
the city lights blur into circles and lines
we decelerate and move in closer.
This poem is included in The Sophomore Year Experience poetry compilation.