A scintillant membrane of frost
encloses the whole car.
Your mouth is an exhaust pipe,
Auspuff, the Germans call it.
The driver's doorlock has
regrown its maidenhead:
you must kneel down to kiss
its tiny virgin apeture
with infinite tenderness
for its inset, infolded metal.
Your pericardium contracts
with the thrill and the ice of it.
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