You never stop rapping tonight.
Call it spontaneous
and everything’s alright.

You got some wickedest tune.

You are the cat’s whiskers,
preened in that certain kind of way
with your mobile tucked to your shoulder.

What to do next to you?

The car rolls on a thousand decibels
and we are nearly at midnight for our sins.

So where did my crater of moon come in?

I would boogie down if I could
to your side, overlap until you brought
a spill from my eyes.

But we are long on the road
and come shine or rainy weather,
you will still be there
talking monologue, light as a feather.

No matter whatever I say.

This is our kind of love on the motorway.