A car ride this morning

Our walks have become shorter,
or maybe time has quickened.
I spilled Tahini sauce on the car seat
and I know you’re mad,
but you still took a hand off the wheel
to rest your palm in mine.
We were figurines in a toy car
winding down lanes, flying mightily through turbulence,
steered by the fascination of
a child with a map.
Sometimes we reach our favourite tunnels
faster while barefooted, and
stones cut my toes and soils my nails–
still, I won’t let you carry me.
You will drift off, my hand combing through your hair,
and awake with scars from the sheets
pressed into your face,
and dried streaks on mine.
You breathe in the sigh on my lips
like a song that fills your lungs. I gently
brush off the fallen, lone eyelash,
and plant a kiss where it once was–
it had somehow made your cheekbone
a roof for its home,
and we mustn’t leave it barren.

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