Southern Expressway

I drive under Sugar Bush road

Blasting songs of the unrequited

And passing by the Honey Pot

I flick through Spotify until 

Doe Paoro sounds about right –

 her pulse of rhythmic bass/

 love lyrics tethering me to

this place that sounds 

of waves and smells

of salt and dust 

and tastes of long nights

and good mates 

and feels hot like the

sun that strokes my face

through the window of this hire car.