1967 Chevy Impala, red and thunderous,
tears down the dirt road like lightening--
we barrel roll in the backseat,
thighs sticking to the plastic and clapping together--
there's a storm brewing outside the foggy windows,
and another storm in your pants--
e.e cummings was right, you are not refined,
but we'll shake the mountains as we dance
YOU ARE READING
a s h e s
Poetry❝People who fight fire with fire usually end up with ashes.❞ --Pauline Phillips ~the third installment of the BURN series.~
