I will drive a bus and you will drive a bus. 

Mine orange, your indigo. 

We will bump into each other in a forgotten petrol pump. 

You will say you have flown away from your materialistic husband 

and I will say the only materials I want to take in is your stormy eyes. 

Then we will take showers together, 

we will roam around our cheap hotel room like two flapping snakes. 

We will ooze for each other in our broken vessels. 

You will go south and I will go north in the morning, 

just leaving behind a cup of coffee with the print of your lipstick. 

No, I won’t be taking that. 

And I will write a poem about you lying beside a beautiful bohemian woman again. 

……………………………………………………………….

Image: Google.