Skipping Stones

I’m sitting with Janay
in her Nash Rambler.

I’m skipping stones
off her thighs.

Her sex is shining
like the sun.

Her lips
orbit the moon.

The gravel street
is a conveyor belt of love.

The streetlight
thinks it can light up the universe.

Ripples spread out on the floorboard
from Janay’s panties.

Suddenly the windshield wipers
wipe us away.