Friends, Don't be so Quick to Love

Out the window moving at 60 miles per hour
My eyes observe the mountains half
Hidden by mist.

Just like a Chinese painting, I think;
No colour, but just shades of
Black, like ink.

Strangely enough as my eyes gaze closer
To where I am, things get less clear
And disappear

Into a great blur where colours merge into
Each other, and you can’t tell one
From another.

Like us.

I think we are going too fast;
Are too much in the
Thick of it.

We should slow down, or stand
Back and observe how
Things are

Before we get so caught up
In the whirlwind of love
And drop
   confused,
     or — worse —
       Dead.