Dramamine on my tongue, streetlights blur into sun
Backseat ghosts hum along, every wrong turn’s a song
Your laugh spins the ceiling, a vinyl sky concealing
That I’m seasick from staying, anchored to what’s fraying
Count the dotted lines—white pills, white lies—
Till the rearview forgets the shape of your eyes
Motion’s the only truth when the rest decays;
I drift, I drift, in the wake of our yesterdays