The Emotional Orphan

We claim to know nothing of Love,
But we wrench it up in each other
like the car that went off the side of the bridge over
the Chattahoochee.

A time released baptism by brackish water,
washing off the pollution. Washing off our past.
An Automobile Called Love.
If not submerged too long
attention is all it needs.

Sunshine to dry it, oil and gasoline,
some spark for the ignition,
and it coughs, sputters and spits until
the timing catches, the appropriate parts get lubed,
it transforms into the sleek, engineering marvel it is:

An Automobile Called Love.

All eight cylinders designed to carry us.
Not only to our destination,
but to our Dreams fulfilled,
by way of unimagined Adventure.

On course, wind in our hair.
Sun at our backs.
Floating, to the rhythm of three hearts.
Mine. Yours. The eight cylinder heart of:

An Automobile Called Love.

(4G)