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We burn out, swerving past flocks of sheets, speed
is not a factor here as we race need
interjecting lips, fingers double clutch
turning my gears rigid; my skin flush.
Twice we slammed the brakes, but my engine seethes

for that rumbling big block to take the lead
revving it harder with fuel left to feed
this lust spinning us out of control. Hutched,
we burn out, swerving past

pillow rails and blanket blockades. Recede
to different positions, side-swiping greed
for that finishing adrenaline rush
as we inch closer and closer to much
more than pink slips perfumed with a love creed.
Together, you, my speed, I, you’re need,
we burn out, swerving past.