you were my parking lot fantasy 

i used to meet you on lunch breaks
when you worked at guitar center.
once, it was raining and my car stalled twice
on the way to see you. everything felt
like an emergency. the sky. your fingers.
the way, the first time we met you promised
you loved me. i am, if nothing else,
a fool for a good confession. maybe it's because
i was raised catholic. i am still searching
for a holy person to tell me i am forgiven.
you kissed me like chewing gum. pink.
the rain came harder. my teeth like
hopscotch. your fingers around mine.
you said, "i would never 
show you to my family" as if it were
a joke. i always wore a binder around you.
i held my breath. you pulled me 
into the downpour to kiss me. i now
distrust cinema because of you. romance 
is so much more about death than 
any other genre. here i where i went
to corpse myself. you went back inside
& i sat in the car for almost an hour after.
wiped the water from my face.
cars came & went from the parking lot.
their headlights like tossed pennies.
the next day i found out you were 
seeing other people. the fires you set
in windows. my car stalled more & more
the next day. it was as if it were telling me,
"stop yourself." i am terrible at stopping
myself. instead, i speak a language
of floods until no one else knows
what i'm saying. i don't remember
the last things we said to each other. 
you were standing outside my window
with a guitar. your fingers, those wild birds.
the sky, still slate grey & rampant.