a circulating aray of memories.
of love, and flashing lights.
an oder of pharamones, and animals thrashing.
touching one another, a never ending pit of faces,
some in fear, some in control. and the men that dance,
a look in their eyes of lust and urgency.
a smile that means nothing a smile should.
the woman the girls, the beatiful sex angels,
slipping in pools of their own saliva.
Then this calm. this beautiful warm rumbling,
as the car moves through a fortress of rain.
everything so dark. the car is my womb-
and He is my twin. our tounges form the embilical cord,
of this backseat romance.
the next a lazy awakening.
sore, and freashly born again to the old world.
a world of greasy hair, and neverending yawns.
a day to play quietly. some brief laughter breaks,
and all is well again. I curl up on his lap-
and fall asleap, a strong hand cupping my breast.
but then we always have to come home.
we always have to go back to ourselves.
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