Highway

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.