The Fiction and Poetry of Jason Thibeault

Love #5

The backseat of the taxi;
she on the left, him on the right, counting the blue cars as they whiz by—
a playful game of unspoken rules,
mustering up the innocence of youthful times.
The sound of wet tires on the pavement,
the thunk, thunk, thunk of passing over the bridge
filling the void of small talk,
until fingers touch in the middle,
passing through an eternity;
a brief timelessness, a skip in the beat of hearts in sync.
And for a moment, both lose count
as the cars continue to pass by
and the rain falls against the windows.