The Girl from North Dakota

She slept all through the geysers on the 66,

The sanguine breath of Arizona air

brushing through the red of her hair.

"You come here often?" I asked her

The day we met.

She blushed as she chuckled an answer.

I muffled a laugh at the expression on her face.

This was a connection,

Our stepping stone to affection!

Perforated streaks of bright orange sun

Caressed the fine features of her countenance

As we stared down the American asphalt looming in the distance.

"My dad gave it to me," she said,

Turning the ring in her right palm.

"I only wish he could be here to watch my big breakout."

"I’m sure he’s proud wherever he is," I said

As she leaned in close…

The tires crunched over sunburnt gravel,

Winding roads unraveling like an old map’s promise.

Ahead, the mesas stood like watchmen of time,

Their shadows long, their silence deeper than words.

That first night, beneath the marquee glow,

She told me she’d always wanted to see the world,

To chase the sun past the edges of the map.

Now here we were

Two dreamers lost in the open arms of the West.

We reached the cliff at golden hour,

The truck idling before sighing into stillness.

Side by side, we sat on the warm rock,

Boots scraping dust, shoulders brushing light.

I looked at her, the light catching in her eyes."

You ever think about where the road ends?" 

I asked.She laughed, shaking her head. "Does it matter?"

"Maybe not," I said, watching the horizon stretch forever.

"Maybe some things are best left unknown."

The sky burned copper, then crimson, then soft violet-blue,

The sun slipping into the earth like a secret well-kept.

She exhaled, slow and easy,

The weight of a thousand miles settling into peace.

I turned to her, but she was already smiling

The kind of smile that says everything.

And for once, words weren’t needed.