one hand on the wheel
she calls me kiddo
and suddenly i see myself young
baby teeth and chubby cheeks
light-up dora sneakers hanging above
the crusty tan carpet of the passenger seat
the word sat molten on my lap
and it fogged the air between us
steaming the windows, clutching my lungs
i said nothing.
the thing was ugly now
not how i remembered it
when i made her laugh in the cafeteria
and roses bloomed on her cheeks
when she cried on my shoulder
about a boring boy she loved, or didn’t,
and diamond drops grit between our skins
when i zipped in a blood red desire
before the prom, selfishly a witness
to the moles on her spine
when our love was so real i could smell it
cherry blossom hand sanitizer
selzer breath and garlic bread,
how i could never inhale enough of it.
there is a wilting reek now
a rotting decay
as my age reverses into oblivion
the image of who i thought i was becoming
(or, let’s face it, who i pretended i was)
crumbles and decomposes on the seat.