In Your Car, We Were Cosmic

“I feel like I don’t belong on this planet,”

I said, as we sat in your white Buick, parked outside a nice suburban neighborhood at 10 o’clock

The nice married couple looking through their window at us in disgust as we passed the pipe back and forth.

“I don’t identify as a person. That’s why you stuck out to me, ‘I’m an alien from the planet Neptune...’ “ you said with a smile.

I felt my cheeks light up, and you called me pretty.

That morning, I brought out my DVD player, and we watched my favorite movie in the front seat, until you had to go to work. You told me later you had wanted to kiss me.

At the lake you did, and I took pictures of you by the plum blossoms.

At night, you parked outside of an abandoned Walmart, and we laid down in the back seat. Sharing our thoughts, dreams, and bodies. You told me I was perfect, and that you wanted to give me what I had never had.

I felt my eyes turn to stars as I looked at you.

You kissed me goodbye outside my house, and I never wanted to leave your white Buick. I never wanted to leave you.