nine o clock, i'm making another list. there are satin flowers packed tightly in a basket that i found outside a church.
i hear her wet eyes blinking, farther away now.
the flowers are about 7 inches tall, there's a few fake buds creeping from the sides. my wrist is getting white from holding them, my arm is sore, a very red rose carved right above my bone.
the blinking sounds sore, there's a bloodshot picture in my mind, she's sighing heavily and her nails are brightly painted.
there are two tulip heads poking from my fingers, and a steering wheel taking my hands extra long to arrange the stems in order of size.
there's a black sock on her left leg and a red on the other, reaching her knees. her knuckles are stained yellow.
there are millions of ivy leaves climbling the rocks to my right. i cant see without my glasses. i take them off and it all becomes a blur of colors too faint and dull to recognize.
her coughing wakes her. she is tired and ill, she says.
i keep driving.