silver cars

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.