His Car
Waiting in the cold dew of morning,
ice on my windows and cold leather seats.
Engine silent. Stalled.
Your finger unlocks me.
I rev for you, heat for you,
burn for you! Oh, ache!
Footsteps approaching faster, faster.
Your hand wraps around my handle,
your sweet warm flesh
makes me human, alive.
My door opens smoothly
revealing a space for your perfect fit
as you slip into the driver side,
your beautiful body molding into my cushions.
I’d die for you in a wreckage,
protect you with my airbags -
my man, my God, my Heaven.
Relax, sink in, let me hold you
and feel the heat of your body,
your ever running engine,
your heartbeats.
I may be a feat of engineering
but you are so much more,
a work of art, a soul, a sanctuary
you share with me
and I am so thankful when we’re one,
when you ease into me
and I allow you because it is so right,
because you are my Love.
Adjust my mirrors, put on my seat belt,
grip my gear shift and pull.
Spin my wheel, put me in motion —
reverse, forward, anyway you want.
I long for this, I need this. Drive me.
No!
Don’t pull in, don’t put me in park.
You unbuckle, I feel your body tense
as it lifts off the seat. One leg, two legs.
You slam the door, put on my alarm
and I’m vacant, aching, alone, growing cold.
Idle. Dead. Watching you fade slowly from view,
taking my life force with you.
My man. My Creator. My Heaven.
