Road-kill Beautiful

Little knives in Tracey’s mind
carve tunnels to better places
but I’m glad she was there that
day on the bus, wrapped like baby
Jesus in a shower curtain
and bruises and bright red cuts

Shoulder to shoulder I ask
about her life, a sharp turn
and we collide –
tangerine hair that smells of
youth and through her lips I
discover we are bound by
the delicate fabric of
loneliness

“I’m looking for someone,” she says
I ask if I can join

Before Tracey, I was the
world's worst lesbian
unable to even look
at a girl but her wasabi
green eyes capture mine
and I let her fill the pot-
holes of my grey empty life

just saying her name –
fizzes in my mouth like
sherbet, a kiss

I knew I could be this
my new self simmered
at the surface, like an idea
desperate to meet its reality

We hit the road driving straight
through the September chill past
snowy mounds, off-white like old
bones and lorry lights blind our
eyes from time to time. I fall
in love over and over
but

I’m not a concept
she says
I’m just fucked up

the car grows silent like a
playground bereft of children.

At Truck stop 99 we sleep
some nights, she - consumed
by a desire to dye her hair
steps out of the men's loos
in a shade of blue that you might
find on
a Dutch souvenir or
a pack of peppermint gum.

Tonight
I see her kissing someone
else, some lizard lady with
false teeth and my heart flutters
against my ribs
but I keep it to myself

and suck my tears
so Tracey doesn’t
realize how much
I need her