You are the wrong kind of torque
An un-fun velocity
A ballsy, bitter ride
In an ego-driven coupe
I’d prayed to survive
I am the wanted-to-walk
An emotional dallier
A noticing, freak-of-nature
In a too-long skirt length
You’d failed to ally
If I were a motorcycle
I’d not wear a radio
Music to me matters too much
I would hope my handler
Would hold fast to my handlebars
She’d perfect my growl, I’d protect her glee
We’d wander where the warm days
Roar quiet into forked roads
Riding together, torque and leather