Wind wrestles through open car windows,
Blowing knotted hair into smirking lips.
Sun-lotioned thighs unsticking from hot leather,
Ripping away as every pothole sets them free.
Music masks the struggling engine,
Teenagers’ voices performing over Steely Dan themselves,
Over the tires bouncing off the ridges of the bridge,
Ones that sing their own anticipatory song
As the salt air becomes thicker between each beat.
Crashing water.
You hear it when you stick your head out the window,
So far you can almost taste it.
“You’re crazy,” he says
“I know.”