Pat Bay

We hide our hands under the blankets,
take advantage of the dark.
I want to lose myself in your skin,
rest myself on the edges of your lips
while we have the chance, alone in your truck,
pulled to the side of the highway.

Cars zip past on the highway
as you wrap me up in blankets,
apologize for the broken heater in your truck.
Outside everything is dark,
except for the street lights throwing shadows over our lips,
backs, thighs, over the melting of my skin

against yours. Let our skin
forge us into one, right there on the highway,
bones pressing into mine, our lips
searching for heat, sweat, salt, under the blankets.
we feel our way forwards in the dark.
In the safety of your truck,

move cautiously on foreign ground, breath swaying your truck.
Rock it gently from side to side, our skin
making milky waves against the dark.
Pulled to the side of the highway
we shed anything under the blankets,
touch everything with our lips,

explore the world with our lips.
Fingers, earlobes, elbows. In your truck,
under blankets,
skin against skin,
on the highway,
fumbling in the dark.

Everything is easier in the dark,
less pressure for our lips
to preform on the highway
in your old, dusty truck
with nothing but our skin
to hold us together, tied up in blankets.

We swim in the dark of your truck,
let our lips travel over sheer skin.
On the Pat Bay highway, lost in those blankets.