BETWEEN STREETLIGHTS AND STARS
Dedicated to all the dream girls.
I breathe in a five o’clock daydream
down to the filter, clearing my head
of bell buzz, locker slam, and hallway chatter.
I pace a street corner, hungry
for your perfume of stolen
moments in summer nights,
pushing my pulse
like boom bap hip hop beats,
pavement shaking kick drum body shots
and eye blinking snare,
like hard rock tidal wave guitar riffs
crashing into mountains,
humbling stone into sand.
Your top-down Cadillac pulls up like revelation,
I climb in like jailbreak, and we knife suburban streets
with tire screech and engine roar.
We are caffeine wired, gate-crashing keg parties
just to laugh at the drool puppets
chasing slurred promises
across shag carpet dance floors.
After counting all the inevitable shotgun weddings,
we write their bitter epilogues out loud,
laughing as we rocket uptown.
At the foot of postage stamp stages we lose ourselves
in dive bar rock club mosh pits,
till the doors swing open into neon breeze,
cooling our sweaty shirts tight over our bones.
We disappear in the alley, your back to the brick,
my mouth at your neck, a hot whisper from your lips
as you pass me the car keys.
On a green hill outside of town,
evening wind washes our bodies
and tangled clothes.
You roll over towards me in the grass,
burying your face in my shoulder
to muffle stories of boys following you home
with catcall claims for your tears.
Your throat chokes at the loudest one
with a girl swaying smile and a shrill laugh
the boys never mocked.
We pull up outside his house party,
both floors throbbing with stereo bass.
We find the sports car he got for his birthday,
and remodel the brilliant red, glistening chrome
and spotless windshields with a sledgehammer.
He stumbles out drunk and shrieking through tears.
Our giggles boil over into laughter and shouts
as we shift overdrive back into the heart of night.
Miles away, your wheels burn
an empty parking lot pirouette.
Both doors thrown open wide,
a ballad on the tape deck for our slow dance,
against a closed strip mall neon backdrop.
I whisper for you to cut the engine and kill the lights,
there is a place I want to take you.
We hop pickets fences,
fumble through dark flower beds,
across a NO TRESPASSING lawn.
Beyond streetlight and storefront,
phone tower and power line,
we lay down under the canopy of stars.
I roll over in the grass towards you,
but you trace a finger over my lips
to stop questions about graduation
and double sided letters of longing
cursive becoming wish you were here post cards.
We hold each other tight, arms aching to save
tonight from tomorrow,
because you are every dream,
you are every dream, you are
the final fading orange ember
on the filter of this lonely
Friday night daydream.
Kris Weinrich copyright 2012 Octopus Ink