he polishes
a soft cloth
carwash
wax
on
and
off
across
this physique.
make me
squeak,
mr. mechanic.
no need to
clean
this
dirty
interior;
press those
fingers
like piano
keys
across
my
leather
spine
and make
my horn
beep.
let them
hear us
across the
street
and pump
it through
morning
till birds
tweet.
