Intersection Knows

On the notions of romance

A melding of the roads becomes the crossroads,
An X, two lines on the map before your hands,
And before you, all the crossroads meld themselves,
As if all the roads in the world became intagible stitching,
And the X's spill like paint buckets cross the creases.
An art lesson, no... but
A moment where roads have no meaning save old maps, outdated.

Author's Note

Excuse any errors.