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exchanging glances between the rear view mirror
and every now and again between merged lanes
and over-the-shoulder peeks when lover caught my eye,
i fell in love deeply in the backseat of her small silver car.
i spoke almost none except occasionally
to remind love gently where to turn.
otherwise i remained quiet and sent daggers from my eyes into hers.
she must have made me cry,
so out of touch yet only an arm's length far.
still i could not reach her, even with an outstretched hand.
i wouldn't brave the trepidation of admittance,
or beckoning 'look here and you will see'.
there's a fate in that much worse than lost pride.
it's a hundred glances without anything to say,
leaving her car for home.
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