Thrill-Seeker
Feb 26 2009


The road runs due north.
Some engineer placed a ruler on a map.
Bulldozers, pushing over trees,
rocks, blasted.

Streetlights
have given way to black.
Snow-banks are higher here.
The broken white line
blinks by in the high-beams,
hypnotically keeping pace.

I feel your hand
distracting me —
my knee,
the inside of my thigh
creeping higher.
You, looking straight ahead —
a mischievous smile,
eyes
bright with danger.
I focus on the wheel,
mindful of black ice
sudden curves.
I feel your warm dry fingers
underneath,
and you can feel my heat, my pulse
racing.

I am grateful for predictable roads,
centre-bare
perfectly straight.
While you can’t wait
for blind curves, heart-stopping hills,
that send butterflies
fluttering-up to our throats.