Push rods, cam shafts, crank and belt,
hand wheel windows, shift knob, radio,
no deck. Torn up seats, a little rust and
engine growl to keep company.
Solid steel rear views,
rain soaked iron rims,
one flame decal,
two would be sin.
Ride the white hair mammoth
out of time,
embrace hot vinyl
against skin.
Chrome littered
how long have we been datings.
I know you do you know mes.
Touching downs and ups
and whisper words greedy
both ways in tumble rough V8
and slip clutch English.
Howl to me and I will sing you back.
Together we will mow them down.
