you always loved the wind in your hair
too bad no one told you it's chilly in germany


he's going 185 down the
autobahn of your body—

destination: virtue.

and he's pushing the
pedal fasterfasterfaster.

you're just his passenger,
along for the ride. and
you're hanging onto him
for the dear dear life that
might be passing before
your eyes, had you not
been sufficiently distracted
by his hands on your gears.

but you've always been
a 55 on open road kinda
girl, and he's way past
your limit.

so tell me,
what are your feelings on