You said you wanted me to come over, and even though it was nearly midnight, I agreed.
I hit every red light between here and your house: start stop wait and wait and wait and start just to stop and wait again, stuck listening to weight-loss infomercials,right-wing talk radio,that god-awful jingle for the lawyer that tries to sound like a wild-west cowboy.
Idling under these red cyclops eyes, I wanted
to tell you that this had to stop, that I was going home, that I’d see you tomorrow, maybe,but I finished the drive and remembered why:
the red scent of your hair;your lips against my neck, saying,“I’m glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re here.”