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.
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
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.