I am full fat ice cream. An add-shot of espresso.
The long way home and clove cigarettes lit
late in the humid heat along the river walk.
If you take me, you get the back roads
through the countryside. We curve past
the farmhouse peeling paint; the cows that turn
with soft, dumb stares; the sunsets that stretch
the siren of evening all the way to town
where we shoot in from the roundabout near
the freeway, all fireflies trailing meadow larks.
If you take me, we bring the car up the side streets,
park it with a rolling stop. Finish the conversation
before winding up the windows, hand cranked
and casually. Feet then hitting sidewalk,
knees kissing hydrangeas. Sprinklers blessing
grass, whispering yes now in the nighttime.
I am sappy, signed Polaroids and oversized
cable knit sweaters. Kittens found in
hay bales and extra change in the tip jar.
If you take me, you get the car in park at the
overlook where the stars come out swinging
and your arm slides up mine and over
my shoulder like the hot pink cardigan
I’ve had since high school when living
was truly easy and the songs all had refrains
that seemed like they lasted forever.

(accidentally vibin’ after Chance The Rapper’s Do You Remember, sorry not sorry!)