On A Back Road

I hate these bucket seats. The night extends
Beyond the beams of light. Dark forests sweep
Along the roadside. Trees the first and last
Things we both see. A dark song swooning on
The radio. These love songs should return
To waves so others too can feel the same
Spring love I feel for you, a pleasant burn
Like honeysuckles’ sweet, sweet smell that comes
In pleasant, nauseatingly warm-sweet,
Recalling all the times I plucked and sucked
The honey nectar. Now I really do
Hate bucket seats. You should be closer, tucked
Beneath my arm, where you belong, and knowing
Our love is like a honeysuckle, growing.