·.·
The Drive Home
The evening draws to a close
Excuses are made and we
– say our goodbyes
On the drive home
you sleepily tell
– me you love me
I smile, soft, bemused
ask ‘why? ‘, not
– that you say
But why, after all these years
why do you
– still love me?
I cannot think of reasons anymore
perhaps because
– it is so late
Though perhaps also it’s
that we no longer
– need reasons
When we were strangers still
we did, as love was
– spiced with fear
But do we now? I ask, and turn
to see your reply
– but you are sleeping
– head on seatbelt.
.·.