There we sped down the highway leaving town, windows down going north. You drive like a bat out of hell, twenty above the speed limit one hand sneaking up my skirt in the suicide seat. Can’t keep your ****** hands to yourself. My head tilted back, Ignoring you a little bit to watch the light from the western sun glint off your new rosary: semi precious stones and Jesus dead and ******, oversized in bronze. Oh, our resounding love and church qualified sin. It’s a little too much how the juxtaposition of our separate lives crash together in the summer, when it’s too hot to wear your penguin suit little black dress cassock.