What Love Looks Like From The Backseat Of The Car

From the backseat of the car,
I see a panoramic view
of busy streets and busy people,
broken roads and broken people,
and somewhere in between,
the love of two tangled people.

From the backseat of the car,
love looks like a trade;
swapping secrets and smiles,
fingers slipping back and forth,
interchanging gear with thigh,
pulling over and kissing goodbye.

From the backseat of the car,
love looks like a routine
of stealing kisses at a stoplight,
sharing bold, burning sight,
laughing, panting, craving,
shouting, fighting, crying.

From the backseat of the car,
love looks like a warzone;
firing anger and misplacing longing,
slapping face and slamming door,
both losing and no one winning.

From the backseat of the car,
love looks like a vacuum;
enclosing one empty seat,
and one empty heart.

This time,
from the backseat of the car,
love looks gone.