And watch in the cracked rearview mirror
the way her eyes shine like little lanterns as they scan the fleeting scenery,
sucking all the beauty that can be sucked from
these disused industrial dumping grounds, internalising it,
trying to find a place to release it in her poetry.

Look at the way her entire being curls
around the beauty that you can't see in the world,
and compare it to the way her fingers curl around yours;
so inadequate. I know you're jealous.

You want her to yourself,
but she belongs to everything else.