The wanderer lay awake in bed
As the red light of the digital clock
Shown across his face sometime after three A.M.
Contemplating his fate
Already staying longer than he intended
After two weeks on the road
This was his second night in the roadside motel
Having met a waitress, now laying beside him
Soft and warm flesh pressed against him,
Smell of freshly washed hair filled his nose
The transitory affair more real
Than any of his long term relations
The simple connection so fulfilling
But knowing it would soon end
As his wanderings were calling him again