[in the backseat through the mojave]

i was intoxicated by the cool, dark mojave air, suffocating in the heavy rush of it, its pressure on my skin and in my throat and within my chest. the sky had come down for some sort of private celebration, offering us but a glimpse of its dance of shooting stars, its night illuminated like a celestial christmas eve. our night was black and heavy, the headlights carving through it to illuminate those endless parallel lines that weave their strange unfathomable web all across america. you were my favorite two people in the world for being there with me, for the words that didn't need to be said.