Lets Hit It Poem by anais vionet

I miss the open highway
I'm besotted with quick getaways.
What other sensation can compare
to pulling G's with wind-whipped hair?

When my foots on the throttle,
I feel unstoppable.
Faster, faster, no faster,
that's the rush I'm after.

Where are we going?
There's just no knowing,
but no matter where we roam,
the GPS will get us home.

I could always guarantee,
the speed limit would be exceeded.
I adored the wide open straightaways
and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles.

I remember in the Appalachian mountains
the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons
as the digital dashboard display passed ninety
how my eschort, Charles, would glare at me.

I'd let off - a little - and laugh, I mean,
isn't freedom the American dream?
To hear the growl of a V8 motor,
as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.