Drive time
Will you be my Valentine,
The voice said —
not quite steady, almost mine.
One hand sliding on cold steel,
Another grips the steering wheel.
Tempo racing past the beat,
Open springs sticking through the seat.
Will you be my Valentine.
Food to pick up.
Smiles to practise.
A punch packed down below,
Shorts worn high in winter snow.
Traffic snarling past at every light,
Reds burning longer than they should tonight.
All the cars behind begin to moan,
Horns like judgment overblown.
Foot to the floor — the light hits green,
Steam rising thick and mean.
Engine hotter than it’s ever been,
Needle climbing, red within.
Overheating. Just like my love.
I’m coming, my Valentine.
Rubber burning — streaks the road,
Past Mile End Hill,
Past sense, past code.
Going slower now.
Or so it feels.
Or maybe not.
Just can’t stop.
Clock says fine.
Heart says late.
Both hands tight.
Can’t hesitate.
Say it clean.
Don’t overstate.
Will you be—
No.
Will you—
Fuck.
Just say it straight.
On time.
Too late.
I’m ready.
I’m—
There.
Will you be my—
Care..
Bear?
ㅤ
Fuck.
ㅤ
For those who choose to go a little deeper,
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access to a Guided Noticing,
and occasional paid-only pieces.
Everything I publish publicly stays public.
This is about making space for slower work, and for people who want to stay close to how it’s made.
If you’ve been hovering, this is a good moment to step in.
I’m always open to thoughtful writing collaborations.
Other prose and poems from me.
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
His was a journey I had to go on thrice! Great momentum!
The open springs sticking through the seat made me laugh and... wince at the same time, because of course the car is falling apart right when your nerves are doing laps..!