the stick shift, the three pedals
on the floor,
the feel
of the leather knob
in my hand
as the car pushes forward
from one gear to the next,
the little roll
back on
the hills, the screech
of tires
on the pavement when
i clutch and gas it
to the hilt.
throwing
the stick forward and back,
to the side
and into sixth gear
as we begin
to fly.
yes, i miss it. but not
as much as i miss you,
telling me to slow
down, easy sweetheart,
the night is long.
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