traffic lights turning yellow:
a kiss and a slap on the roof.
i taught you that superstition
driving downtown
with the windows down.
late at night, talking over
a broken radio.
and i kiss my fingers,
and our single headlight
winks out for the last time.
we talk about
the last time it felt right to make out.
and i'm certain, if i drive into those tress,
it'd make less of a mess
than you've made of me.
