The Snow Road

I wish we were back on the snow road,
in that little red car
with the sun above us.
You’ll be driving, laughing at my jokes,
because
I love making you laugh.

We’ll slalom down the
black liquorice strip between
white teeth,
snow banks sliced,
and diced,
split open to let us pass.

We’ll eye-spy huts,
across linen sail plains,
and pretend to be the
occupants
for just a moment.

We’ll stop for photos
at a blue flavoured lake,
and you’ll raise your arms to the heavens,
then wrap them round me and
I’ll feel pure.

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