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She's gone away

April 13, 2018

She's gone away,

lost control,

my James Dean

Spyder

woman.

 

Shrugs kerbs,

subs me, this way

and these ways,

bouncing back into 

oncoming traffic.

 

Her wreckage,

my lesson,

in speed and slow.

And throttle bruise

light, chasing.

 

Footwells tacky, bloody.

Brakes scream

through pads, discs, 

right down 

to the marrow.

 

Unworn seatbelts strangle.

She lives young, 

dies fast.

Me, the rebel

within the Porsche.

 

 

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