Your delicate hand
grips the gearshift
and I find myself blushing,
but you never notice.
I stare out the window,
and count the trees we pass;
if only each one were a kiss,
think of the fun we’d have.
Your delicate hand
changes the speed we travel at;
and I think to myself,
I’d really like to listen to
your engine race,
followed by
the quiet purring of your motor
at a contented idle.
But we just drive,
going everywhere
and nowhere,
led there
by your delicate hands,
and again I blush.


3 thoughts on “Driving…

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