Ah, love at first sight.
like cigarettes and foreign saliva,
bleeding streetlights and a speedometer I can’t read.
DUI avoidance tactic number 1: Cruise Control.
The question of red or green
is overshadowed by the rare chance to see the sunrise.
Safety is in the back seat,
the decision to call her is steering me now.
Should I take advice from “Swingers”
or my heart?
Wait six days
or five minutes after I drop her off?
Shit!
The devil is behind me,
black and white
with the demeanor of a circling shark.
Will he understand love takes alcohol?
Oh no, not again,
I’m this guy.
The drop of the hat, head over heels romantic
with more tragic shutdowns
than bliss dripping fairytale endings.
But I want the so cute you could projectile vomit ending.
So I held my breath and plunged.
But the sweet dried blood on my bottom lip,
the seemingly endless adrenal spasms,
and the Jetta bruise in the small of my back
tell me I sunk too deep.
I can tell I’m going to drown all over again.
I pour into bed like a knocked over drink,
spreading and soaking into the sheets.
Her grey eyes must be lodged in my chest,
because it still aches like the first time I saw them.
But I can’t exhale her,
she’s in every breath, keeping me awake.
The dizzying fan blades
will black me out soon.
Now I fear the morning.
It will be heavy handed when it beats on me with its coherence
and repeatedly stabs my brain with sharpened logic.
But for now there’s no pain,
I've been pleasantly violated
and given only a first name.
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