The Girl In the Car

It is the girl in the car, on warm leatherette, Who, in the Summer slipstream, teased the wheel And gunned her engine heart; She graced the passing furnace air, and angel sweat Tracked slowly down her singing spine, for her to feel Ignition spark and start. And in her moistened loins the truth it rang A clear and sensual focus, some chaste alarm Forewarning her affirming stance; She knew the throttle deviance, and words that hang In glibness in a one track mind, such charm Insinuate it's way into her pants. She scanned the roads ahead, acknowledged fork, Twin signs with arrows, nervous, highly strung, And take a wilder stab at chance; Procure the empty fast lane or get out and walk, Race to cold and shallow sex and silver tongue, Or ramble down the highways of romance. The tumbling of the dice, herself to know, When, the vulture Summer flying through, Chilled in the Mustang embrace; And remaining in the car, yet took it slow, And holding on, and to herself be true, And smiled within the smile upon her face.