Vroom

If I said you were a car crash 

Would you blow your Piston?

If you read my mind aloud 

I would bake your name in mud.

It's me who finds it hot today.

Hotter than a tourniquet; 

hotter than a sunspot

spitting in the desert, 

hotter than a hotrod,

ripping up the track.

Here in my cabriolet, 

sidewinding the day away,

like a magic roundabout, 

like a blue orgasm,

shifting through the gears I go,

vroom vroom vroom, 

vroom vroom vroom. 

Your hair is blowing in my wing mirror,

my skin is tingling like a fractal,

blow right through the plasmatronic 

crackle of existence

which sums my sex life up

and tear my chakras like confetti,

tie them to your kitetail

in a little hail of psychotropic ribbons

then drag me off to Venus

like a burning comet.