small bumps on the road, the orange light from the street lamps glow like a midnight sun
and i fell in love with the girl beside me, sleepy and lovely with a scar just above her left brow --
a childhood souvenir because she could never stay still;
her hair free and wild like her
and i'm flooring it while my seat belt is off
(stupid and spirited, i know i will give her name as the answer when fifty years from now a child asks me about my youth.)
old man Bukowski said:
"the flesh covers the bones and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul;"
i believe God poured and poured all the glorious things on her
and gave her a hand-made heart of gold.
and maybe this isn't going to end well,
and well, all of this is forbidden
like the apple
but still sweet so never mind the toothache
or the possible heartbreak.