Even with the dark shadows crawling in the stillness of a summer’s evening, sunshine’s blurred the lines one last time, skin on pale skin in the mustang’s backseat her dad lent us, ten miles down the driveway, our breath and sweat fog the windows and remove what little sense it made not to end up here.
Her dress, violet tangerine lingerie,
She’s so mine
If we can’t fix this flat tire,
Tonight will be the end of me.
And I won’t live to see what’s to be between her and me.
(© 2021 AC)