It's midnight and I'm high on
chardonnay and adrenaline.
We watch night's slow-crawling shadow
above Half Moon Bay,
feel any sense of responsibility
being quickly erased.
You steer one-armed, tires clunking
against highway reflectors,
fingers inside each other's clothes,
both of us igniting at sixty miles an hour
like teenage lunatics.
Tonight I want nothing more
than to slide beneath your hands
in this clockless universe,
while the ghostly hills pass.