Full
bellied barreling down 31, the ring's the thing
keep
repeating over and over, wound tighter'n a spring.
Tires
hum on asphalt, windows down, late night air
jostling
by dashboard light, errant strands of hair.
Knees
pointed this way, a little skin shown
eyes
front on the highway, look down turn to stone.
And
those fingers lithe and long, lord they're right there
close
enough along the neck to feel each transparent hair.
Engine
slows down, signal clicks, once into the next zip code
hoping
to find the lift bridge down, get this thing off the road.
Diamonds
scattered on black sackcloth, orange half moon
summer
bacchanalia down below, autumn's coming soon.
Walking
out to the edge, and the leash pulling farther
wagering
between bonfire smoke and perfume on the collar.
