FRONTIERLAND

My car is a pretty little boy, so quiet and so fast, a sweet and tender little thing, so fragile on the road, driving like a boat, waves pounding towards us like roads. Like driving somewhere I have never been, like a house with a garden and that kind of a life I have never seen, like a party like the one where I met you. Kissed some lips, I liked new kisses on such a sweet little mouth. And you were bigmouthed with sweet kisses. The house, the car, the boat, the road, the waves and the sweet little kisses, like that pretty little boy driving so fast as if life was in discussion as in one of many. America you say, I do not know this, I am different like a boy on a boat sailing towards some distant, something else, like a girl in a car. Kissing that sweet little boy driving too fast like me