Headlights are
The bow of our ship
Through The rush of dark
on either side
Steady, underneath orange
Orange
Orange
Slow at yellow, stop at red, go at green
Through the tunnel
We glide
Unhurried as always
I watch from the back seat
As the specter of
Exhaust pipe vomit
reaches for open air
Only to be cut short
At the bone
And forced back
He stares forward, eyes on the road
A half-smile
Lightly sketched across his face
Both hands on the wheel
Piano on the radio
The smell of oil
Sits next to me, without a seat belt
Too close
He turns left, we lean right
The car straightens and so do we
This place
Somewhere I’ve never been
Scares me like
A dull pain
Underneath my ribs
That lasts till morning
Disappears
Then returns
Again
And again
The abrupt slope of a concrete ramp
Into a parking lot
Behind a building
That looms
Smug
In a dress made
Of neon light
Then the car stops. He cuts the engine
The warm hum
Circles the drain
And quickly disappears
Silence
He steps out
He turns
He stares
His smile, now black ink on thin paper
He slides underneath the dress
Creeps underneath the folds
Stops at the door
And produces
The key
Sad
Brass
And chained to plastic
It vanishes into the lock
The mouth opens
He steps inside
And I notice
That not even the night
Will follow
Silence
The uncomfortable sway
Of a tiny boat
Without an oar
Pushes me out
Into the water
Forward
The first wave—red
Forward
The second wave—blue
Forward
The angry buzz
Of trembling purple
And the on the horizon
The swell of black
I look back
Expecting maybe
A tether
But there is no current
No push
No pull
And no shore
I float freely
And everything is asleep