Wind whips through the car window,
rushing through the fingers of hands
that reach past the leather interior
and into the shadows. Flashing past
the scarce streetlight,
our heartbeats speed up to match
the rotation of the wheels,
the pulse of the speakers,
the roar of the engine
as the air pulls our breath away
and leaves the legato notes and laughter
on the pavement behind us
as we continue on,
rushing forward into the night
under the light of the stars.
Erika Rowlee 