what is it about a stickshift that makes everything better?
the door handles would always
freeze on cold mornings.
we would have to brace our feet against the ice
lean back far to open a door.
mama would slip back and fling herself into the driver’s seat
a beckon for me to jump in before the line got
too long at the store and all the
coffee went cold.
we liked to pretend we could drive to the beach from here,
swerve around corners where everyone still lay sleeping,
roll up to some deserted boardwalk and collect
sea glass to keep in the glove box.
shifting gears after the stoplight, too slow for
commuters who pass by with raised middle fingers.
she pulls over, breathes hard, screams.
I lean my chair back, taking in the scent of
bananas we had let rot under the seat
and cup her hand like I understand what’s going on.
she starts the engine with a splutter and we laugh
like we didn’t just run away, laugh like
punches weren’t thrown as we pass by,
no punch backs.
two women
laughing
like a yellow beatle could make anything better

We need to go
a little faster,
a little faster.

Downshift and mat it,
**** the redline.

Bleed black,
sweat oil.

Hold on,
hold on to me.
There'll be turns
and twists.

Hearts will sync
with the revs.

I soared into your blooming daffodils
of tender love, felt your electric blazing lips
meet mine, the spark so hot and hypnotic,
the way your hands pressed against my treasured
arms, the way I shuddered inside your
voluptuous vessel, your strong and passionate
chests filled with abundant transcendence,
guiding me towards the inner chambers
of your mind and soul.  Firm, flawlessly formed,
atomic rocking abs, starlight shoulders,
Venus gleaming in your drumbeating,
brick house thighs, legs full of love language,
drifting in your masculine symmetry,
your mansion majesty geometry,
your luminescent derivatives multiplying,
equating with my amorous existence.
stunningly scented biceps and triceps
filled with so much strength, soothing
subconsciousness, elements of creative
content, comforting literature and history,
****** art dipped in soft strawberries
And whipped cream, enticingly deep and sweet,
your body delivering enormously high heat
in my bloodstream, a moment of grandeur,
baritone bass voice, yet smoky and silvery.
I dived into your undulated creation, relishing
the taste of your honey love, addickted
to the anticipating beat of your hard swirling
stickshift, your splendiferous sausage
supremeness, enchantingly *****, a grand
slamming volcano exploding, holding
and stroking your shaft, basking in its infinite
seas and streams, wanting to choke on it,
swallow it, massage your hot *****, to think nothing
of it as it enters inside my mouth, bringing
me back to life, such power and reassurance
of a man, such an amazing canvas, an impassioned
invention gushing with boundless and steamy liquids,
jazzy instruments, a magnetic frequency shifting
in energy, seeping into your scenic and soulful
galaxy.  And your mouthwatering muscles
interrupted the equations recreating themselves
in my inner brain design, so salaciously seduced
by your spellbinding attractiveness, how your
whole body was my comfort zone, a place to lay
my head upon and feel the epitome of you
in me, transporting me to different destinations,
keeping me safe in your lustrous space,
your masculinity all astonishing and calling
me home to your **** swagging seas.