Young Hearts..

A rickety Chevy 4x4 races the sunrise, headed south where her driver will cover himself in concrete and sweat. August days greet him kindly before dirt clogs his pores and his epidermis meets the harsh burn of summer. To the West, a girl sleeps. She lets the sunrise win the race as long as it does not wake her. The morning is avoided, robbing coffee of its purpose and cereal of its appeal. It's a beautiful time to be alive. He carries bricks and mixes concrete while she feeds her dog and clips coupons. She boils water and plugs in the vaccum while he lifts beams and installs wires. He thinks of her while she thinks of him, and their young hearts grow fonder in absense. A glass of wine passes the time as she waits for that familiar sound. A back door slams just before she hears his work boots take turns clunking down the hardwood hallway. He leaves his concrete-covered clothes in a heap on the laundry-room floor, he knows she will be glad to wash them. The sun sets and there is no race, only two young hearts growing fonder. The inexpensive wine passes through their pursed lips while his fingertips run accross the top of her skin. Eventually, they sleep wrapped in each other's limbs with their chests pressed together allowing their heartbeats to echo. The sun rises, the race begins again.