exhaust

exhaust belches from midnight rigs,
as I sail through the greens,
I feel the past turn to plastic,
as I catch up to the traffic,

I try to pull more moments,
from our small moments,
but our small moments don't hold much more,
than a long, empty hallway,
or cold, deserted highway,

I try to stall time,
with a joke,
or a line,
but nothing comes to mind,

so I watch you from the window,
after you slip out the door.