Drive Home

The road never ends and the trees curve up above us,

Their wet leaves almost  touching each other as they reach out.

My coat covers my damp knees and my hair steams in the warmth of the heater.

I watch you concentrate as you drive, your lips pursed together until they go pale

And it is my favourite time, during these fleeting winter days

When I do not have to think or speak or plan.

I feel comfortable with myself when we are together in silence,

We have only to see what is around us and drink in the smooth darkness.


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