Remember our road trip when we almost died?
You probably don’t,
But I do.
Remember you were fast asleep
As the bus drove through a black vacuum hurling thick rain,
Lightning crackling across the sky to highlight the highway,
Thunder rumbling above the earth to stress its stampede,
Midnight devouring the lonely stretched deserts,
While the tornado chased us within its severe storm,
And I cowardly joined you in transporting slumber;
You were dreaming upright next to me,
So I curled up into the fetal position as much as I could
On my side of the seat and laid my head on your lap
Because if we were to succumb to deadly whirlwinds 
Before reaching our Californian terminus,
I wanted our flesh to be ripped to shreds midair
Not being able to feel any tremendous pain 
Since we would perish in our deep sleep together.
You probably don’t,
But I do.
Sometimes I wish that cyclone would have caught up
To destroy the traveling metal and cease young lives,
So I would not have to bear the agony I had to
A year later where my steel heart was torn apart 
By a force like the windstorm I was consciously afraid of.
For a long time, I hoped for our merged demises
To fly in pieces and spin as one dissolving world;
Instead, an avoided tempest met an expressive hurricane.
Now, I am just happy that you and I can sleep
In our separate beds with another for safety,
Other intact bodies to perpetually keep us alive
Away from the deathly currents of the twister.
Remember the life we had before it expired?
Remember all of that?
You probably don’t,
But I do.
Kevin Adam Flores Barbosa is an English graduate who has been writing poetry and short fiction since he existed. He has been published in The Rio Review, University of Texas at Rio Grande Valley’s Gallery 2016-2018 magazines, BAM's SXSM zine, and The Chachalaca Review. He's also been mentioned in University of Texas at Brownsville’s The Collegian and The Brownsville Herald. He is a bittersweet poet who has an Instagram and Tumblr (@blinkforman23).

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