137.

and I promise before this is all over

I'll look over to the passenger seat and there will be

some beautiful person casting yellow smiles in my direction

leaned out backward and sweating with the windows down

and maybe I will swap my cigarettes for suckers

and start putting sweet things in my mouth for a change

maybe it will be summer or maybe

we will sit cross-legged on some winter hearth instead

counting each other's fingers and telling ghost stories

wrapped in campfire colors, kissing marshmallow mouths

maybe we will stay under snow banks

for a while, or maybe

we will let autumn creep up behind us 

and tickle us with dead leaves, and we will fall 

back into piles of dandelion fluff

sneezing and giggling and remembering our childhoods

things like what our parents said at Thanksgiving

or how tiny our hearts were, and the first time they broke

and then maybe we will fast-forward to spring

weaving reed baskets and whispering secrets

into the little hush of creek waterfalls

and twining into each other like green chutes

holding leafy hands, swigging moonshine under porch lights

drunk and flushing at each other

and happy, just happy