Her lips pulse blue
with the flashing of the sirens
as our hearse switches lanes
to the avoid Tuesday toll traffic.

She brought her battleaxe
and I swept the lashes from her cheek.
"You do one eye at a time." She repeated.
I never even knew she had features on her face.

In our heads, we're speedbike racing
in reverse cowboy,
as the rubber meets the road
and your torso forms a question mark.

In our hearts we're crawling back to "them"
our heads somewhere beneath the floor,
trying to hold our smiles sincere
yet we can't stop smelling our fingers.

07/02/2013