White painted lines on grey asphalt
The paint makes the gravel smooth
Andy knows them
Even at 60 miles an hour can count them
Like a stutter that is so fast it almost flows

There are humming birds
Beneath his breath
His breath is a sweet nervous wind

She wants to hold him
Like a nervous lover
Shivering in a warm room
Because her breath cools his sweat

He is skinny
Xylophone bone ribcage of hollow log thump

He counts the specks of rust in her green eyes
Without her noticing

Th th ththththth er’s th irty five five five five in your left eye

His hands play an invisible piano
Body a snake smooth sway in the wind

When she kisses him
She knows
By the way his hands move
And the nervous breath
And the blind sway

The only thing that’s really wrong with him
Is that there’s a song trapped in there

He looks out the window
White lines on grey asphalt
Andy counts them
And almost doesn’t stutter