It hits you sudden sharp and clean

It hits you sudden, sharp and clean,

before you know the place.

A black hose coiled, a glistening sheen

on the asphalt's tired face.

That potent scent, it fills the air,

a fume that lifts and clings.

It pulls me back to somewhere there,

on phantom, dusty wings.

The road ahead, a ribbon spun,

so empty and so wide.

Just miles and miles, beneath the sun,

with nowhere left to hide.

A smell of speed, of going far,

or maybe just to stall.

Beneath a distant, waiting star,

answering no call.