Midnight Debate

My favorite car is one I've seen in dreams. Its always the same.

"This path leads to certan destruction. " I say firmly in my mind. Standing my ground, my footing sure. Sure of my solitary way.

You continue your own stance. Sure, even in silence. After all the track is well lit - clearly marked by the electric trails your fingertips have made on my skin and the glow of the dashboard of the body of a metallic green Dodge Dart Sport with its 340 Six pack and pistol...grip. Its smooth 340/450 hp engine with 11 to 1 compression and...strong...transmission will ensure a 14.00 second quarter mile at 98 MPH (with LOTS of wheelspin).

Its not the speed of light buts its pretty close to stopping time and blurring within its two tone green interior.

Your mouth anyways is otherwise occupied. All very powerful arguments on your part, despite my attempts to feather the throttle of your six pack...engine...you simply vary your rocket engine's...thrust...intent on your flight to come close to chasing after the speed of light. Or was that your attempt to regulate and reduce the speed of our flight from the world. In the smoky heat of our passion(or is that the dust of leaving behind the landscape in our wake, to remind folks it passed - just in case they blink?)? I'm getting us confused. Do you begin where I end or do we begin together and never end or is this another dumb perfume commercial?

With this flight, the solid ground beneath me has begun to sway and I begin to slip. My sure footing lost, my way not so sure. My 20oz Vanilla Latte splattering a bit in this high speed chase after adventure and mutual exploration.

You're drawing a map I find. Drawing out the curves on the racetrack of my soul, mapping out our sure win around this track of time.

I return the drawing lesson in kind, artfully tracing my body over your soul. And in due, er, course, I find my way, no longer unsure in this sure path to your heart, only my fatalistic views get lost in each heartstopping turn around the track.

And so, I redesign the topography of passion. Yielding to possibilities, changing my solitary track.

I learn each line and cruve from hard points to soft senters, fresh dual exhaust with correct polished tips to the sure torque flight transmission of your intent to the live axle of your actions. Commiting them to memory. I live inside you 'till I ,E,PROZE TJAT TPP/

The debate over, and me now wide awake, I stumblele into the kitchen...my footing still unsure after such high spped dreams of my favourite car and its many points of pleasure. I had the topography of my own place with its obstacle course like living room mapped out as well as dreams of my favourite car. My favorite vehicle of pleasure whose body is ingraved upon my mind. I bump into my coffee table, drawing out blood from my toe and curses from my lips.

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