She sits in front of the glow screen
watches the men race to Dakar
through dustbowls of death they race
wheels wobble engines groan eyes
circulate and re-circulate fear
desire and pure exhaustion and she
wonders if the race is like explosive
orgasm as his bike crashes as he pants
wheezes breathes swears shakes
ignores her text message to
play it safe
into the pure splash of knowing
that he could have just died
but goddamnit
not by her hand.
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