Risk v. Reward

after just a few hours

the smell of

your skin on my skin

had faded

replaced by gasoline

cigarettes and

cheap, rest-stop soap

and hand-sanitizer

I kept trying to find you

on my clothes,

the collar of my shirt,

under my fingernails.

you weren't there.

blurred, instead by so many

state lines and miles,

gas stations and

grease traps.

later that night

as I laid restlessly

clutching the blanket that you claimed

as your own

on our trip out of town,

I found you again

before finally drifting off,

the smell of your face-wash hidden

somewhere in that blanket or

maybe only in my mind.

I'm not sure.

but now

your scent is gone from me

and you are hidden as well

blurred by state-lines and miles

and I'm left on

dark roads, alone, unsure of

the ground beneath my wheels

and I should've said something,

anything before you split town.

I should've kissed you goodbye

on at least 3 different occasions.

I should've jumped from the bridge

and, you're right when you say

I don't take enough risks.

And maybe I'll take more of them

if you take a chance on this.