Seven Point Six Miles Home

last night it wasn't really raining but the streets shone pale and endless
and i was driving him home
and he was trying to make conversation to end an awkward night
and i didn't really care if i lived or died.

so i turned into his desolate driveway
and let the door close and the conversation end without finishing.
i started the car turned my lights back on and drove away
but if the car hadn't gone home i wouldn't have noticed.
in the seven point six miles from his house to mine
all i could smell was the cologne on my sleeve
from two nights ago.

i opened a window
and mist coated the left side of my face.

yesterday you were running your elbows everywhere
your knees high and your feet controlled
laughter and games i tripped and bruised my knee
but i don't care because when i look at it i see the sun on your shoulders
and when i smell my sleeve i feel your heart beating.
(but if i looked up in that memory of the peaceful winter night with a movie i wasn't watching when i'd snuck away and no one knew where i was
i would see her eyes and her smile and the way she stuck her chest out for the picture
inside a frame attached to a frame
holding you.)

i know you love her.
but that doesn't stop me from saying your name when my car's in the garage and i've walked upstairs and fallen into bed
and that doesn't stop me from nestling into the pillow under my head and pretending i can hear your heart.