The Yellow Lines of Highway 540

I'm walking the fine line of lust and love,
Somewhere close to where art meets beside
Imagination and science, close to madness.
The road before me is straight as an arrow
But will, until the end, feel like it winds
Somewhat like a little used back country road.
The scenes change before my eyes from green grass
To asphalt, billboard laden crevices,
But neither scene leads to anything substantial,
Nothing worth really staying behind for.
After all, the grass is always greener
And the asphalt is always smoother,
And at some point we tire of both, don't we?
Somewhere along the line we want snow,
Or maybe Autumn leaves, to litter that scene,
Something different, but not too different,
Just enough to add spice and flavor,
Something to mix it up and rejuvenate that love
That so long ago faded out of lust and into boredom.