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Something about this summer night feels crisp,
Almost like the leaves during autumn
Yet there is no chill which might signify the changing of season.
Just the darkness of an empty two lane road seeping in through the open windows,
Its silent presence mixing with
The smell of humidity and flowers that only bloom at night.
Something about the way he presses his hand to the skin left exposed by my shorts;
Cool to the touch yet the weather contradicts.
It’s not the leaves that crunch under our feet
But the moon overhead, its outline stark
Against the darkness only two AM can seem to provide,
Reminding us of a brisk autumn breeze which causes the leaves to shake in the trees.
Something about the way we are blinded as we stare into passing headlights
Yet our motion continues, the car seeming to see despite our being blind.
The reflection of double yellow and white on either side
Keeps us hemmed in, as we head deeper into the tunnel
Created by the canopy of low hanging branches, and the road
Looking as if it may drop off at any moment,
No depth beyond the reach of our far fading headlights.
Something about the way our hair twists into our faces with the wind,
Yet it doesn’t bother us; we can’t see anyway.
And the motion of the passing car sends cool, crisp air through our open windows.
Its nights like these, where we confuse the seasons, where we drive into the darkness
Letting the car take us, eyes closed, windows open.
Something about the way the sound of cicadas combines with our endless motion.
We sink into these familiar leather seats to become part of this night.
It’s no longer important to know where we come from
Or where we’re going. We’re no longer interested in summer or autumn.
All we feel is the unseasonal crispness, and we see nothing.