When your body
is plastered against the glass
during my force of passion,
propelling through tunnels,
rocketing across bridges,
igniting zenith sparks
along my inflamed carriage.
When you peel yourself
from the screen of my energy,
steaming, rattled.
When I have been derailed,
the furnace handle still hot
and I puff, 'choo choo,'
then you can be the driver.