I barreled past the clean citrus glow of every highway rest stop.

Muscles cramped in the onslaught of adrenaline surges.

The six-cylinder pumped refined petroleum.

The four-cylinder pumped unrefined blood.

I took a right at my friends (unknown to them).

And started North on 77.

My back to the wind.

We talked of marriage and rings.

We are a pair unlike others.

You went for an ashtray.

And seated behind you, herbivore Barbie’s chiseled Ken watched your ass with every step you took.

We are a pair unlike others.

When the chair concealed perversion’s temptress – his eyes back on swirling pasta tempest.

Her eyes on croutons made of chocolate and dressing made of gravy – if only.

She’ll see it again later.

This whole ordeal went unbeknownst to you.

And to me? Not one ounce extra of thought.

What I knew is that I missed you for tomorrow today.

Crossing the same compacted tar.

This time against the wind.

Cramps from my gut instead of adrenaline.

A cold-snap bed.

A weekend that happened a year ago.

Tomorrow though…