backwards car

he says, "this will be okay" while
pressing his foot to the gas.
the world unwinds & i don't know
if i want to have a body anymore.
my blood like oil feeding a little machine. 
i always take things too far.
picture us married with eight children.
a house with too many windows. 
pot boiling on my forehead. 
everyone in the world is watching our date.
we are both almost sixteen. 
i have already turned into a crow
several times & he has told me
the same story about his mother
killing basil plants for fun.
in the parking lot i admit, "i don't know
how to say your last name." he says it
& i follow the shapes of his mouth.
i never get it right. 
it is such a shame we have
to meet each other like this,
so hungry. in the pizza shop
he orders for me. white pizza. 
i try to explain how & why my feet
don't always touch the ground.
he asks, "are you ghost?"
& i can't answer. 
he says he wishes he wasn't a triplet.
we drive backwards all the way
to a creek. past houses & cars,
all of them shouting & saying,
"you are going to hurt someone."
why don't i tell him to stop? why don't
i say "i don't think i want to 
try to love you." instead, i tell him
the opposite. i say, "when can
we meet again?" he promises to unwind 
the sky for me. he promises 
he will cut down trees to see me.
chew up the moon & spit it out.
alone afterwards, i walk backwards 
for the rest of the day. embarassed,
i lay on the floor of my bedroom.
turn into a crow again only now
without embarrassment. 
wild & feathered. i worried love was always
going to be about undoing yourself.