Driven

Your face is a poem in the orange light
The frown creasing your features is a map
Dreadlocks form a waterfall of past thoughts
Kissing your cheeks like the memory
Of long lost loves and campfire songs
When your moonlit stumbles shone
An aphrodisiac for the would-be-hipster
Craving the coarse touch of a real man
Tonight finds you alone, a mere vision
Bobbing along in the cab of a van
To the comforting tones of The Wailers

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