The thin hair lines of exhalations are curling,
fingertip twiddled behind the windshield.
Another stop light, radio tapping feet against
brake, gas, and clutch like a three kick drum set up,
bow saw beneath the driver seat.
Thoughts about how nice it would be to see you soon.
Thoughts about how much happier you will be
after we make things square again
trading your heart for his head.
Take my hand, sweetheart.
I will do the first half and,
if you are up for it,
you can finish.
The rest is mine to worry about. Everything
taken care of. I know a good place or two
that will put a tidy bow on our hours together
so we both
can go home safe.
Before leaving, fingertips making ringlets of your hair
and winding down the day,
we'll catch up and stamp the wax
to seal what can never be said again and slip loose
the corrugated aluminum ring on
that red bottle of wine you've been saving
for the question. Maybe slice some cheese
and crackers
and listen
to the frost's creak and chip march
across the edges of the living room window's panes.
