Love belongs in the back seat of a convertible,
Parked somewhere in the summer night's dark.
Lips interlocked and cheeks flushing vertigo
The ignition to her transmission is
Push to start.
He shifts into drive.
Limbs, like open roads, quickly spreading apart
His eyes mesmerized along the highway of her thighs...
Love doesn't always exist in the heart.
It exists
Behind the steering wheel of his ****.
The roadmap of her love canal is truly a work of art...
Voyaging between thighs so thick...
Parked somewhere, in the summer night's dark.