whispers of yesterday’s burn stain my cheeks pink
the hazy morning glow of sunshine catching
dappled flecks of green through my squinting eyes
golden light cascading through my windshield

the cleanliness of my wiped-down dashboard illuminated
white exterior sponge-washed and doused by may’s scattered storms
glovebox emptied of all articles once lost or recently found 
the salesman at the run-down car wash threw me his pitch—

“leather seats need conditioning, ‘else they’ll lose their shape”
but i haven’t had the heart to erase your moulded frame.