midnight motorway noises

We two;
he and I.

There is some other word;
exhaustive.
Something other than those unmentionable words;
redder in colour,
that wouldn't leave that saccharine taste on my lips.

We knew it late.
Reluctantly recognised
it peeking out from behind midnight talk,
between words as they wandered
the short distance between your mouth and mine;
or following us out of the cinema
all the way home.

We greeted it once; fleeting
and shrugged as it skipped away
to find two others more deserving.

Still it remembers
me and him.