What song would I call this feeling?

A dance with house and rage.

I see you – brown.

That pretty brown face that I love to keep on my lips.

What do I remember hearing?

My ear ringing with a slam against your passenger seat window.

What do I smell?

You. A deep spice and maybe disbelief if that smells like anything.

I taste nothing. I throw up curses.

I feel the steel of your car under my foot, making my anger known.

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