Can I crash into you?
Burning rubber cologne
and a dislocated number plate,
I've dressed the part
for you to take me out.
I'll only fume like a wreck
and then melt like rubble.
I'll turn my nose to a pulp
trying to meet the bone in your chest,
and I'll bend my hands to your back
with the sound of wrenching metal,
like rusty parts of something
that shouldn't have been driven out this far.