Your cab light was on, and I waved you down. If my heart’s a revolving door, you’re the fire hazard. I’ll burn with you, and we’ll get high off the fumes. Your luminosity dims from that melting rubber and warping steel. With it, that honey pot pyre I’ve loved so dire.

We met and suddenly I’m not me. I’m still Jacob. But I’m not me anymore. Part of my soul was attracted to your magnetism. That void in my core is a puzzle missing its final piece.

Do you quiver the same way when she touches you. Are those pampered claws what you truly want? Must they shame my quick-picked nubs. Or that crimped virginal mane. Not my bleach-stained brittle. Not to mention my shack compared to her Tower of Babel. Am I the Madonna or the whore? A bop’s blues is only sung, never performed.