the wind in December doesn't blow the same way as in March
the sun doesn't shine as bright as it was but it still manages to radiate a little expectance in life
the windshield isn't clear, it obscures the view from your seat
you try to hide your disenchantment but I notice
perchance, you wished I didn't notice but it's not preposterous when my eyes are glued to you
the roadblock and the trees seem negligible to me
some clamant honks can't even make me take my eyes off you
you turn your gaze to me, looking so fitful
so I release the steering wheel to hold the sweaty hands of yours
a veracious smile carved on my lips as I close my eyes
which hereafter, we both fall into nigritude
