Come along, Pond!
Sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey & drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind, except falling in love & not getting arrested.


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Pulse

I hit the intersections where your shoulders meet your neck, passing through the car wrecks of ex-boyfriends who parallel parked on the dead ends. and I just hope your skin lends me an extra mile so I can slow down, take a while to admire the landscape, drape my arm over your being there. this time when it comes to your skin, I’m a drunk driver trying to walk a straight line.

I’ve been pulled over so much that your simple touch is enough to make me assume the position - wishing I could stay there, where your hand searches my body for contraband that could land me in the jail of your ribcage. because road rage is a sickness and my medicine is your skin. I could spend the rest of my life circling the same block, wondering where does the world hide its private stock of people like you.

Shane Koyczan.

2 years ago on April 28th, 2012 | J | 1,255 notes