Riding Home
Windows are shut on the silent frontier,
Car drifting down the placid path
Breathing hushed by the whisper of crinkling bags
Air carries a warm odor that fills the lungs like meat to the stomach
Incense
Not like cigarette smoke, nitrogen to the lungs,
Or a rash kiss into the mouth, momentous ecstasy
But rather like lips tickling the face,
Smooth and easy,
Warm and calm.
Shush, he's taking you home.
Car drifting down the placid path
Breathing hushed by the whisper of crinkling bags
Air carries a warm odor that fills the lungs like meat to the stomach
Incense
Not like cigarette smoke, nitrogen to the lungs,
Or a rash kiss into the mouth, momentous ecstasy
But rather like lips tickling the face,
Smooth and easy,
Warm and calm.
Shush, he's taking you home.
Rachel Carmody