road trip
back here, the loudest sound
is the tires on the asphalt
rumbling like pregnant thunder
and muffled voices
of strangers with different ears
occasionally the inane sound of radio--
unrehearsed inflections of a broadcasted voice
or artificial reception of a surprise tune
back here, the condition of the external
makes no difference as we look
at each other, ashamed to say
anything out loud, and we make love with our eyes
fearing that when we start talking,
our words will be too insufficient,
as they often are, but we have nothing else but them
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