Danger Boy, you might as well be made of neon, your cation sign shines so bright. I should be running, but I ran out of traction on the liquid of icy hearts melting, and then when others froze up it left a nice solid sheen for me to slide out on until I wound up gliding into your kiss.

You should have a warning sign, you should.

Bright letters that say DO NOT ENTER that I do not notice.
My shaded sight disregarded all the flares and sirens so I slid head first into a spin out.
My worn out tires couldn't grab the friction of your tongue.
I'm fully prepared to clench my fists and scream and wait for the crunch of metal and bone and cloth
'cause this stoplight is one that we failed to play at.
Maybe your soundtrack drowned it out, or maybe your eyes outshone the red. Whatever happened...
Maybe the brakes gave.
Maybe my feet weren't trained fast enough.
They're so used to racing they forgot to let up.

Either way I'm set for waking up to concerned faces and open arms saying, "You were gone, you were close, you left, but we brought you back," and maybe I'll catch a glimpse of your capped head walking away from the clearance with the assurance that another accident was averted.
Or maybe I'll come to with you breathing life back into me and your blessed mouth will ask me, "What took you so long?"

Or maybe, just maybe, I'll steer clear of your hazard and pick you and your hitching thumb up. You'll sit in the passenger seat, give me your slow smile, and my blessed mouth will ask you, "What took you so long?"
Regardless, I'm headed down a road I'm all too familiar with.
And only fortune knows what's next, Danger Boy.