P es de Poesía Pendeja.

There was a tiny itch and a tiny light
and they were passing through in the middle of the road,
when you're driving fast things blur in sight
but not in mind.

And there was this one tiny drop
on the back of my knee
and a tiny smile
on the corner of our lips.

But the thought didn't fade
and my pain didn't heal
but the light did pass by;
a fast blur to dismiss,
a quick itch to scratch.

-L.