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.