smoke signals and that broken yellow line
you must have been looking for me
late nights were made for this feeling
the wide-open road,
the spill of the passing
streetlights bathing this car
in sizzling egg yolk,
yellowing these rose-kissed cheeks,
petrol flowing through this gaze, these sliced-open veins,
driven to settle on you,
cheap memorization—
Selene chews her tongue into rubber and chokes on it
and I am transported in a retch to your doorstep,
my hair awash with your monochrome porch light
stepping across the threshold,
gliding across the tile,
feeling my way into your cushions —
were they firm,
chiding the careless whisper of a vagrant,
or were they soft,
molding to my swallowed-down figure
with a ravenous colonizer’s ease?
running every red light,
windows rolled down,
wild tresses snapping in the cold breath
of the boundless night —
late nights were made for this feeling…
