When We Are Maybe The Car Itself

You tell me about state-changers,
mostly tell yourself, as you switch 
across lanes without looking.
All this fate is in your knees, I love
your barefoot feet
& I am sure they are not feet 
when they move us this fast without trying.
Your hands are my hands, real and still
themselves. They make a roll-it-up motion at 
at my open window, you tell me

feeding oxygen to fats
is what makes things rancid.
​
I don't know formulas for finding half-lifes, 
muscle mass, or good moods.
I trust you like you trust
them, trust those blind spot bodies
behind and beside, envy how
everyone who isn't you and me
knows how to become impermanence.
Just wait until we are all the same again,
go fast grow: up, 
                             old, 
                                 wise, 
                                      tired,
                                            into, 
                                               out of,
                                                      apart.