Gridlocked Intimacy

It is a

Graceful

Tangling

Link me in to

The bloodstream of

The city

Sharing a pulse

Breathe the same

Air with many

Sitting still in

Traffic

Windows down

Could reach out and

Touch hands 

Maybe

Intimacy limited by

Metal doors

Painted lines

Normal behavior 

For gridlocked 

Freeways

Involves keeping to 

Myself

I think I would

Rather hear your

Voice

We could talk

About the breeze

What brings us to

This standstill

Music on 

The quiet radio

Turn the volume

Down

To hear you 

From your own car

To be part

Of a network

Real minds

Working hands

See them all

Around

Leaves me feeling

As though I left some of

Me

Behind with

You