This goes out to the woman that was driving the Alfa Romeo convertible spider at sunset:
You are a ghost. Your flaxen hair madly snapping at the sides of your face. Arm outstreched catching the wind. Lips puckered in sweet contentment. The joy only lasting as long as the ride.
Beside you we will haunt these highways from here to Brazil. Our eyes burning forward, we will never know each others face.
You are a ghost. Your flaxen hair madly snapping at the sides of your face. Arm outstreched catching the wind. Lips puckered in sweet contentment. The joy only lasting as long as the ride.
Beside you we will haunt these highways from here to Brazil. Our eyes burning forward, we will never know each others face.