Kiss Me on the Freeway
He’d run from the pastures of grass
to sing and dance in a car he didn’t own.
Palm trees and faded neon passed
the water-stained glass
while dreams bounced inside,
better than wine.
The padded shoulders of memory agreed,
the pestle and mortal sin were sumptuous;
the worth of studying failed history aside,
this morphine-like lullaby still works,
like a Cartier charm.
Without the bother of incriminating ledgers,
the punky kiss still arouses deep passion
across the trench of time
mis-spent in the distance
away from the wisdom of sea-shells
and the cruel humor of used syringes.
The scent of delicious children holds, true.
Adam Henry Carriere's writings have appeared in The Tonopah Review, Zygote in My Coffee, Popular Culture Review, Tattoo Highway, NoTe Revue, The Chiron Review, Strip, RFD, QTribe, and others. He no longer writes from Texas, he's happy to say.