hiding in your car four door
silver and covered in dirt it's filled with a silvery green light (a text from a friend, "where are you?")
and cigarette smoke from your new habits and my old ones.

my heart thunders when you pull into a gas station
"low tank," your voice creaks in my ears weary with unused sounds
if we keep driving we'll make it there before it's that big of a deal.

it's night and the moon is reflected and tripled in the mirrors
my mascara smudges are showing like bruises under my eyes
and the salty taste of tears is riddled on my tongue
i can feel your hand against mine and when i look over my shoulder
i see a flock of clothes flung in a blue plastic bin ours
"OURS." my mind shouts it out our clothes
mingling together and touching each other
wrapped around each other entwined
your skull-pocketed jeans and my Marilyn Monroe shirt
her eyes are gazing at me fervently
"which mistakes will you make tonight, dear?"

fear grips my heart tight spreading roots throughout my limbs and immobilizing me.
the lights of the gas station cast eerie shadows on the seats
my feet become monsters and my hands are dancing vines on your seat
you haughtily stoop down to my window and peck my cheek gently
the fear is gone