Commute – A poem.

The moon is full
and dim.

A haze that pales its color—
a muted pink behind sheer fabric.

It peeks behind the mountains
like her nipple as she dips—
a warm, golden blush
that is just the reflection
of light sent cascading
across the star-filled asphalt
singing beneath my tires.

Her soft touch still lingers
as I drive.

The clouds rise like the ocean—
an impending wall of rain and cold
and hope.

To crash against me,
over and over as we both shiver—
the blistering warmth that chills
as we race through each other.

JKolasch

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