Her name was Gasoline;
she was my goddess.
I chased her down highways
and through years.
Driven mad by her
perfume and shimmer,
her invitation to ride,
whispers of adventure.
She ran me a twisted road
to strange cities until
somewhere in the traffic,
the heat of endless delay,
I stopped
and forgot the road.
But she’s still out there and
though her name is cursed,
she still smells like freedom
and wild younger days.
Alas, yes, “she still smells like freedom.” A good one, James.
Yeah, this is a keeper.
This makes me think of my motorcycle, and days of wasted afternoons going nowhere except in a circle of solace and quiet joy.
It sings, James.
An intoxicating and volatile mistress.
Yup. I knew her well. I like the anthem, the acknowledgement. The love-lust.
Nice one, James; great rhythm and images.
Thanks, everyone, I appreciate your kind words about this one.