naps owe me eyes open

She clung to his core, cake filled and warm,
as if the last fisherman pitched around a lake.
She was not gonna let go until evening
fell, until they had made their hotel;
eyes on the autobahn ahead.

They’d trickled into terraced tributaries, once,
hankered after hidden held waists on corners, continuously,
as they learnt of not letting go;
kept the sense of cologne pecked necks,
fuliginous chimney pots
and the fume of hollowed out leaves on rain soaked tress
stacked next to each other on the latent apothecaries patent leather shelf,
safe in the old factory of a shell.

Their single cylinder sang along the road
and she did not hear him singing.