your favorite song
like a song, this night is
melodic and mellowing
we cruise through roads in
the hand-me-down car I got from my uncle,
A broken stereo screen and two dents
in the passenger door, hand on my leg
other steering us home,
so dark out
all we can see is the pavement ahead of us.
you look so silly driving my little orange car,
your head nearly hits the ceiling at every turn,
your hands too big for the steering wheel.
you drive my Honda like it's your Mustang
what felt like 60 was only 40 and when
we reach your house; I can’t stop myself from giggling--
no shoes. criss cross in the passenger seat.
my laugh echoes through echoes
high pitched chuckling circles our ears.
later, you play guitar in your room
lying at the edge of your bed, I
watch you play the hook from
The Man Who Sold the World. my hair greasy,
heavy black eye makeup smudged, but I couldn’t be more
at ease the way you play this song like Bowie himself,
all I can think about is how much I love it
when your hair falls in front of your face as you play,
pick hanging from your mouth
I catch you looking at me through clumps of fluffy brown hair
you shake your head, hair falling back in place
you know I love it when you
play me your latest favorite song.
it's all I listen to for weeks.
on my way home,
my Honda clanks through roads
my hands too small for the steering wheel,
I play your latest favorite song,
add it to all my playlists and
learn the lyrics, so next time I see you
I, too can sing along