Driving in a car with you (in the style of having a coke with you)

It's early morning.

On any day.

Wispy clouds in calico sky and we?

On a journey.

And I sit but a few centimeters away legs tucked up.

Any highway, and all I see. Sure hands on the wheel, watching the smooth muscles of your forearms slide under your skin.

Virtuoso hands nocturne.

And we talk above the sounds of old rock you play for me.

Your words ebb and flow.

Sometimes I am listening for that special curve your lips make around words you relish as they leave your mouth.

Other times I just sit with you and you let me be.

It would seem to others so tedious a thing, to drive but there you are in your white shirt, beautiful and in this space just for me.

And suddenly I there is no place I would rather be.

No grand place you could show me, no art, no music, no words of poetry.

Nothing just driving in a car with you.

You.