Every time you think of me
I imagine it makes my skin
pull itself tight in embarrassment
If you smile it pulls
tighter still, and my hands
start to have trouble
opening all the way
There’s a smell that follows you
and it haunts me most of the time.
It was burned oil and old smoke.
Now it’s just that chapstick.
And if I must I’ll make that drive
and sit and watch the stars shine
and the trucks run north to south
And I’ll drive that much further
to keep you smiling, even
if it makes it hard to
let go of the wheel.
I was happy for the chase.
But you never could outrun
that old Bonneville,
in the end.