i made the mistake of kissing him on new year’s
without getting he really, really wanted more.

i was happy with a warm mouth and giggles
ushering my calendar flip; he silently digressed.

he drove up from denver most weekends so we
could aimlessly meander in his oldsmobile with

the broken heater, small, spiked cups of 7-11 hot
chocolate warming our hands, slackening our mouths

so the secrets unraveled all over the floorboards,
across the dusty dash, and out the windows with

our purple plumes of camel smoke. still, he never
overtly declared his crush and my young gaze flitted

everywhere except next to me in the driver’s
seat, so when j told me he drank a bottle of jack 

and slammed his fist through a microwave after
learning i was seeing someone else, i mourned

the passing of us, regretted telling him how black
hair would make his blue eyes pop, so he dyed

it and when i remembered the last time i stayed
over and saw the inky tint in his sink drain, i cried.