He used to deal coke off exit 27A.
I smoke butt after butt as we accelerate on I-90 and it's getting darker. I come
back down from high places. Excusing myself from getting too smart with him,
I put my hand over his on the stick-shift and feel it move. I want to be beautiful like translation:
sex and body heat and softly escaping words that shimmer from smooth lips like his.
But instead I just come down from high places and watch as we go over the speed limit;
transfixed with the translation that arises from two hands and some skin covering my bones.
He used to deal coke off exit 27A but now he deals with me.