"We're Passing Through Them."

If you've never lay in the back
of an old El Camino
and watched as the meteors tear their way
through our atmosphere,
like chalk-lines on a
speckled blackboard sky,
then you've been doing something wrong.

If you've never rested your head
on that spare tire
next to a beautiful girl
who is telling you her life story
in a voice that sounds like whiskey
flowing across her satin throat,
then I don't know how to explain it to you.

And if you've never let that girl
play you Tom Waits on vinyl,
pour you a glass of bourbon,
and listened as she sings along to every word,
until the record begins skipping,
and you press your lips against hers,
then you simply can't understand it.

"Know what's amazing?
We're passing through them,
not the other way around."