Bring me along!
To your road trip of fun!
I'll hop In the backseat,
Unbothered by the summer heat,
And we'll drive till your fingers blister on the steering wheel.

I can ride along!
S'long I can pick the music,
Ain't really nothing to it,
But we might hit some old superchic,

Oh! Bring me along!
My skin itches to touch the hot air,
Blooming through the window,
At 60mph.

Oh won't you let me tag along?

roads destined by adventure
an unknown ticket to anywhere
you and I discover
the postcard skies together

It was the summer.
It was the summer
Of roadtrips
And heartbreak,
Of wave breaks,
And road rage,
And sunsets,
And guilt trips.

It was the best of times
And the fast of times
And the worst of times
And the last of times
It was the summer.

It was the summer of
Tollbooths and
Accelerating cars
And as quick as you go
You pull what chases you
Just at fast,
Newton laws,
For it was the summer.

It was the summer
Of never and always
Of fears and futures
Of clairvoyance
And of foolishness.

To look so on trees,
In Summer's waning scorch
And not see the leaves
Changing, is blindness.
But it was the summer
Of changes unseen.

Autumn slipped in silently,
Not through the back,
Like a servant,
But through the front door,
Like an assassin.

Words were had,

Shots were fired.

Summer is dead,
Cradled in Autumn's arms,
Green life turning to crimson
And yellow, and brown.

The past is only
As good as our last summer.
And this one, well,
It was the summer.
It was the summer.

Sitting in the front seat of a rustic truck,
whose paint has seen more thunderstorms
than my skin has years,
you look so still,
like a porcelain doll,
with the fading light of the tired sky
casting its blue blankets over both our eyes.

Through the pitter-patter
as raindrops splatter on the roof,
in time with the erratic static
of the radios endless loops
I can hear you breathing in...
and out...

And as raindrops trickle down the windows
their silhouettes becoming waterfalls;
shadows running down your face
and over your cheeks to your lips...
down your neck,
and under the warm thick folds of the blanket
that hides wordless fingertip games.

The sound of your breath like slow tide
interrupted by a tidal wave;
a thunder clap so loud we shake.
An electric explosion so bright it wakes
the souls of the living that were secretly sleeping,
safe and sound with the darkness deepening.

My arms pull you close
and your arms pull you closer,
pressing your ear to my chest
and my chest to your ear
so tight that it's easy to hear
the my own thunder inside.

Your eyes close,
your heart slows,
and as your pulse settles down
the trees start to dance and sway,
gently, side to side,
through the wind and rain.

Our stories begin to unfold
in sleep and in dreams
as the rain begins to fade.
And through the clouds
a different trickle,
a leak;
a lonely sun beam
warming your cheek.

It's 10 pm and the heat just hit me
The AC is off but I couldn't be more happy
Touched my first palm tree and dipped my hand in the toilet
Grabbed a cab to the city, on the seat there was a death threat
For breakfast we had Bananas foster, po'boys and hash brown
When Amanda power walked I had to tell her to slow down
By the Mississipi river I drank a peach daquiri
The waitress wanted more tips and across the streets she chased me
Strippers gave me the finger, ****** begged for ******
We were stuck in traffic cause of the constant flash floods
In a Camaro and a Werewolf to creep with vampires and slaves
Talking about plantations by the old family graves
And you were so beautiful under that big oak tree
Even more in the rain outside that locked cemetery
On Bourbon street the homeboys were asking for hugs
And I gave away all my coins to some thugs
We ate jambalaya and fried green tomatoes
The ladies were halfnaked but no one called them hoes
In a blacksmith shop with no electricity
We drank Morgan and got wasted with some other swedes
Wherever we went we felt the smell of ****
From every balcony people were throwing beads
All the ***** sounds were drowned out by the air condition
On the floor Hoyt from True Blood was changing positions
Then Chris slept like a baby when the cockroach sang him lullabies
For some reason it made more sense than "bridge may ice"

The fog spread like peach jam
overtop the overpasses.

Deep inhalations
held in our tired palms
as we watched exit signs
pass by
and marked each mile
we could no longer turn back
further.

A colony of sparkling starlets
lay a glow on the dashboard.

A small slip of fumbling thumbs  
or perhaps a trip
in the wrong direction
sent me backwards
a tipsy turn
or subconscious fear of directions.

But soon,
she found herself trapped
between diluted affections
and a car headed fast
in but one direction.