orgami's Diaryland Diary

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five twenty four

driving holding the emerald
wheel the horn ring gleaming
polished

the cigarette smoulders
the horizon over her shoulder
wavers

the dash bezel
odometer turning like a lazy
eye five
six
seven

the engine throbs
up through her heels
pedals worn
the struts handling
the rough road

her eyes sweep behind
the fair lashs
the last of the day
feathering bright
wishs

my arm aches leaning
on the passenger post

i keep drifting off
and she punchs my
arm leaning

the hood stretchs
ahead of us through
the dusted windshield
wide as a laneway

she smells great
I feel like dying
lazarus

the wind screams
across us through
the open windows
and tears the moment
in tatters

eleven
twelve
thirteen

11:13 p.m. - 2010-07-21

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