02 April 2006
LOVE: Starry Hookups In Old Cars
The Inevitable Hot Love Is Standard
I sing a song of great gropes in a sweet smelling old car. For love perhaps finds its most vivid expression in the ample environs of bench seats and faraway AM stations. Acts of love performed in such conveyances are never quickly forgotten. Music urges us on and the windows must be cracked to vent the vapor manufactured by ardor.
I sing a song of a 1978 Ford Thunderbird floating down a forgotten city street. Inside love goes down on a carpeted seat, angled back voluptuously. A moment came after the spanking that was like a spoon full of heaven, a heaping one. A moment I will never forget, simply terrifying. I never dared dream that verily I would explode into a perfect verisimilitude of paradise.
I sing a song of a vinyl top V-8 U-boat of a sedan. Furtive love flowed as the wheel steered us lazily around the block. I sing a song of a deep groove sloppy grope while parked down a hidden hill. Years do not diminish these furious auto freak fests. In a reverie I do cry and sing of vast eruptions, joy's vengeful effusions.
I cannot bear it away, too much, too much. I cry at what has altered me irrevocably as I pull up my pants on an empty side street, somehow day turned into night.
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