(Posted to The Writers Club)
A cliche death grip rips my shirt
in the back seat of a car,
theft of a heart isn’t a crime
in her mind,
with an alluring caption, capturing
the wheel of steering
emotions through windy, narrow
roads of thick forests with a jagged whisper
on her tongue.
I broke eye contact,
trailing kisses along her southern route,
pressing my lips along
her hips, ripping scars.
She stripped her sweater.
Two hours fly around a story,
one where we’ve abandoned reason.
The rearview mirror extends us grace,
chasing us from the past to her parent’s home
after curfew.
I killed the engine,
and the lights went black
well before I entered her long
driveway.
She kissed my cheek
and slipped inside her bedroom window.
My heart never went home.
It slept with a girl for whom I’d fallen
on an autumn evening.
I’ll shut my mouth to hear life open my eyes
to a lingering sunrise of her nudging me to feed the baby.
(© 2022 AC)
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