when you just drive
sitting so far to the right that your face seems half in and half out of the window
windwhipped hair and it is getting all frizzed but the tears drying saltsticky on your face are the most palpable thing above your neck
below though is where the emptiness starts and the emptiness is why you started driving in the first place
the gap in your chest, wrenched hollow - like a kitten grabbed, full fist of his scruff in your grasp, he shrinks, wrapped, sneered into himself - he is paralysed and so are you
that chest hollow, scruff-grappled, drawn... an exhumation, a vacuuming
the feeling remains but the emptiness is the counterpart
when it is not reciprocated where does love go? where do the feelings flow?
where has your heart gone? where has the night gone?
you just drive