On lonely nights
I think of you
and take a drive
down degenerate lane.
The tar becomes your skin,
solid, but soothing.
Your eyes are the stars
watching me from afar.
While sex appeal
drips drowsily
from your lips
on my windshield,
just for me to wipe it off.
It doesn’t matter
how long I drive,
your threads keep unraveling
strand after strand
covering me with your scent
until there’s no air
left for me to breathe.
That’s my cue,
time to leave.

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