As I round the curve to the open road
I catch her come-on thumb in the distance
and my thoughts begin to assess every possibility.
The approach is a targeting, homing in on those things that tell me
where she’s been, what chit-chat is liked and the music she listens to;
her hair will have the smell of a bedroom shared with another:
there in the dark curls, there in the lovelock across her eye, and
her long legs have walked the whole mile to this place at the roadside -
all of this is in a clear outline because I’ve seen it a thousand times.
Getting closer, I can taste cigarettes and red wine;
the chocolate she licked from fingers at breakfast after making love.
I know how later on she will rest her head on my shoulder
pretending to fall asleep, and I will look down at her tired, tangled legs
then back to curves along the open road.