Driving

Hanni you are being hugged,

huddling happily on the back seat.

On the soft, leather, squeaky springed,

rolling, beeping, clanking, street

and your laughing at the games of hide and seek

and your head leans back, resting on his cheek,

and your soft blonde hair, is lying there, a touch static.

His eyes are closed, his mouth it smiles, he’s lost in traffic.

 

And your friends are leaning into you,

squashed in like glued sardines,

under coats, cosey-like, a bunch of laughing teens.

And your driving, somewhere, anywhere,

where the light is liquid black

and white and silver-hazey-brown,

the kind that’s owned by movie stars.

like Summer days burnt down.

 

And the window is a halo,

That is filled with empty space.

and the infinite flat paper,

illuminates your face,

and the road is driving onwards,

and you don’t care where it ends,

cause your frozen in the moment

and your laughing with your friends.