Night Drive

Lane change behind
a multicolored UFO
my exit comes
with drops on the windshield.
Virga curtains obscuring
mountain mass
late Sunday;
a hint of sun still aloft.
The freeway
is driving sex--
liquid smooth flowing
through nights'
endless rapture,
lovers travel
entwined--
occasionally to
horn bleated
frustration.
A drive from her
just as satisfying as
the drive into,
leaving hints
of moisture behind
on every stripe and
mile marker.
Rumble strips moan
5,000 RPM's
shriek my name,
cruising undulating
pathways every night,
looking for an exit,
a new road to fuck
with black rubber
exhaust fumes
and gauge lighted smile.