the backseat lovers

shitty car stereo playing Iris, cup of coffee made to your liking, 

not too sweet, not too black, 

ice cold and vanilla fresh.

rain pours down, hitting the roof of your corolla,

you smile at me, lips curving and bliss me with your usual jokes,

not too offensive, not too funny,

warm thighs and jasmine tea.

time is ticking, I know we're slipping away,

half-empty bag of fries, underneath neon signs,

“asking you to love me feels like a race,”

not too brave, much of a coward,

hands intertwined, with intentions blind.

like, do you want it in the backseat, or maybe on the floor,

two texts saying come over and love me, i just want some more,

not too smart, too much liquor,

watered down mascara and thoughts that flicker.

empty parking lot, the streetlights blur as I lean in,

your lips meet mine, warm and trembling,

and for a moment, now's the time and everything's right,

until the sun comes up, i'll still be thinking of you,

and with it, the emptiness you left behind,

unspoken,

like echoes of laughter that fade into silence, haunting the spaces where we once existed.

oct 16 ‘24

p.s; there was some things that were said that weren't meant, there were some things that were said, but we never did.