Every Car Passes and I Think It’s You
Johanna M. Vining
every car passes and I think it’s you
is this love or is it
uncertainty following a mess of nothingness
I like where this is going, but also
where is this going?
sometimes your hand forms a pillar against my skin
that lump on my spine – that formation hovering just beneath the surface
I am both things – lust and that unnamed emotion
a filter at the back of my brain
muscle tension and the way my eyeballs roll and roll
introductions – this life once lived. This life of yours that I feel I must own
but without that other sense of urgency that follows
hellohellohello take me as I am
and you are,
every time I imagine you moulding your history around my hands
how so, sew, sough
projection called out.
another distant rumble
another call to order
your hands gripping my hips
and this is this is this IS
there is too much to explain and I can’t quite find the words or
remember if you were the one that called me on my inability to speak coherently
my mother called tonight and I spouted this wonder
these words that flew from my mouth concerning you
one ear to the window
one ear to the door
can you hear my heart beating?
beat, beat, beating.