Tires soar gracefully across the pavement
Like hands across your skin,
And the smell of summer brews
On Interstate 65,
Outside of Nashville, Tennessee,
Where your lips are like a bottle's mouth
Your neck is like a bottles neck,
And the bottle is full of some divine drink
I am yet to taste,
As I grip my arms around you
Passionately breaking ground
And suddenly, those mindless conversations about nothing
Redeem themselves as an award
For the months I spent trivial.
And the sight, from looking in your eyes,
Is a potrait of America;
The pursuit of an American Dream.
The pursuit of happiness.
The pursuit is over; I have found it.
© Copyright 2016 Mike Florio. All rights reserved.