NIGHT air.

my fingers ring with cold air
driving the motorway at night
the ambers of lights shooting
as stars dying to their death.

the girl in the passenger
has no idea of what tonight means,
sitting innocent, her hair the wind
flexing by and by we go.

the moment comes a single hit,
the front crumples to the middle
and the lines waver, frantic and sick.
we hit the floor dead and it's out.

goodnight.