by Tiffany Belieu
Rainfall of tires on asphalt. Subconsciously,
a count begins, un-mourned graves
on the side of the highway. Guts
the consequence of quickness.
Creatures who leap
without looking, spindly leg blown
glass fragile, mar the pristine
mourning gown of our drive time.
Tragedy is an unfolded map
in lap en route to an open casket.
Lilies, a dozen ghost brides trumpeting
mournfully from the backseat.
In my memory lives a warning
of what one might become –
lonely. The fact is
I’m sorry
I should have opened
up to you instead
of waiting for you to bloom.
The fact is
I’m too much like you
on the road. Never swerving, steadfast,
exacting. I can’t let go
of the idea I failed you, myself
and the idea of love. Tasking us
to lift the veil and kiss.
our reflection’s lips.
Tiffany is working hard on her dream of writing. Her work is published or forthcoming in Back Patio Press, Q/A Poetry, Muskeg Magazine, Rabid Oak and The Mantle among others. She loves tea and cats and can be found @tiffobot on Twitter.