The Destination

Light bore on our hungry faces,
It is summer
and whilst I am driving, you are fast asleep.
Gentle fingers burn on the black tar steering wheel
and I flinch, squinting towards the Destination.

We praise the Sun with outstretched palms,
You had been so cold.
But still the anticipation of it had hung
long light arms hugging the muggy haze - my ( Read more... )