Parking Space

Metro auto wipes against my glass muck, fog and rain crush the inside out of me — There part of her appearing windshield down; this myself, a glitter in the stoplight — Now the slick and slip of odd out borders — this accidental Déjà Vu ploughed steel; Where the upside of this doll backseat pass — my brass wheels, they spin only for your world, And then to the swallows new to this air — the color of heart still beneath our tires.