Red Present

The past is a concern of other worlds
As I press into the red present of your curls.
The top of your convertible’s down, Beethoven’s on.
Passing a smoke you intone the spell with confidence.
You wish to be my wild, young conductor for a while.
“Shall we stop at the pub for pool and a beer?".
You winked your yes and stepped on the gas.
The baggage and memories a blur in the rearview,
The radiant blue wind whipping our smiles hard
And sure as death and sex in spring, I'm happy.