January 1979
When I speed down closed roads
I’m confined to the tight lanes.
The sky’s dirty cloud-carpet sinks down.
The car behind is moving faster 
Than the one in front of me.
I swerve around a lost tire,
See an opening and blast out.
I burst out with Germanic force.
Blasting harder than busting through brick walls.
I’m finally free in flight on black lanes.
When I speed over your clothed skin
I’m confined by the tight lace.
The night’s air steams fancily around.
The clothes on me are moving off
Faster than the ones in front.
I swerve around a lost shoe, and
I see your skin-light, as I grab your controls.
I’ve busted out; I’m flying high, over
Apocryphal fields of mild white honey.
We’re in free float as we blast off,
As we synchronize our thrust on white linen to
Movements strong enough to shatter brick walls.