Headlight

Dinner at a greasy Thai restaurant

in San Luis Obispo, where the

streets seem too blissful

and escape is in a Shell station

just outside downtown

It is not a long drive down on the 101

cars sliding through darkness,

crossing the grapevine before ripening,

flitting across lanes to the 134,

the bone marrow quiet of driving alone at night

Stoplight at that empty intersection and realizing

the last time I felt my body

it was unfurling in a rest stop parking lot.

Corner coffee shop where the masochist predicted
my lust would turn to pain - 

Dampness on the stairs outside the house,

a rain I had just missed made me think I started losing limbs

a long, long time before the In N Out in Camarillo.

She ran into the living room

to embrace me, stood staring for a moment

at her feet in shock,

my fingers were still lingering in that

Highway 101 darkness and under her

tree lights I was still palpitating, scentless like last summer.