Trip Fantastic, and the Skyline Drive

No one rides for free, except for me.
The stretch of road leaves blisters,
where the soles tread- my soul to retreat.

I know you’ll be there with your shoulder so I can unload this weight.
The empathy of your neckline, your slight frame holding the warmth as if the sun blazed in the room.
My infernal sigh is the only sound you need.

It doesn’t look so far from here,
the distance has no face, blank expressions unfurl on the horizon.
Mist and clouds and dusk mutate into sunrise-
and you can almost see the skyline drive.

I somehow always new,
I’d find my way out
this place where I left you

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