HOT ROD

fast and furious

archangel in paint and chrome

brings me home-

purring megaphonious,

combusting with sav and sap

thirsty for long tip and lap

that i glimpse

peeking into warm grill chintz-

then she lifts her corset bonnet

and lets me touch her glinting bones

secreting home spun

pheromones

attracting, like moon and sun-

mysterious

and mnemonic

old senses,

fallow and fenced

soon become drenched

quiller and squirter

in that linguistic converter-

glow mapping,

overlapping,

slowly blown

in the metronome.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his book WOODED WINDOWS. 2011. All Rights Reserved.