Drive

Woman. Saw you drive by today, them wheels rolling past my house. Dunno why, that's the long way ‘round. Imma gonna tell myself a nice little story about that, but…

Got me thinking.

Let's get in a car, you and me. Yours? Mine? Doesn't matter, woman, let's just climb in and go.

Out beyond the city lights, out where no one will see us, out where nothing matters but you and me.

And, woman. Let's make out. Like horny high school kids. Like those last two decades never happened. Lips smashing together, inexpertly, wet and sloppy, tongues wrestling, pretending like we don't know what we're doing even though we've both been around that block, just never together.

Let me fumble at that bra clasp as if I've never done it before, then marvel at those breasts like they're the first pair I've seen outside a magazine.

Let's give each other hickies on our necks. Lol, guess we're both wearing turtlenecks the next few days.

Woman, let's pretend you're a girl and I'm a boy and there ain't nothing, nothing to stop us from exploring each other from top to bottom except the risk of old Farmer Rankin comin' out to chase us out of his field with his shotty.

You down, woman? ‘Cause I'm down. Always. Let's roll.