Worn Sand

A twilight cruise;
A drive dimly lit by Moon and starlight.
Leaned back in the leather seat of his convertible
Sippling lightly on booze,
The taste muffled by the false stimulation of static electricity.

A love song playing on the radio,
With the wind in our hair,
Speechlessly singing at midnight,
Listening to the stereo,
My hair stands on end.

The car halts.
The song stops.
The endless cruise
Reveals its faults
As he leans in for an electric kiss.

In bed alone I pray,
With the taunted mandibles of a broken beetle,
For the worn sand to clump a rock;
For such a day
To in memory stay
Forever away.

The release of an electrical charge,
The surging down every nerve
Electricity mimicking my natural tendencies
With much more intensity:
White eyes and a stinging tongue:
False sensations.

They leave my mouth numb:
Unable to taste.
The shocking of lightning
Leaves but the tickling of knives on my gums
And leaves me a sensationless waste.