Open Top Hustle Ride Jam

It was a pile-up in the midst of surrender. Sometimes, your heart throws open a door when there is no place else to go. Suddenly, it remembers the way. Like it always knew.  

We lay like layer cake and understand skin and metal. The hot sun melted you finally. Good. I tried everything. Was ready to leave, then on the pinnacle of the crux of the apex of the turning point, you surrendered, hot damn, finally. Let that be a lesson to you. I have no words left. Though all I have are words.  

I smudge the war paint across your cheek. A tiny feather falls in the valley between us. A treasure of chest, a pressing of tattoo beats.  

This stillness is optimum movement. Canned heat must go somewhere. Some explosions are invisible. And yet the astral plane is going wild.