Midnight Drive

COMMERCIAL FREE, boasts the radio commercial
as I look over to your side of the car.
My hands are dancing a nervous dance on the steering wheel,
palms glistening,
fingers tapping an uncertain leather ballet.
I give you that look,
the one I know you secretly love.  
You flash me a smirk.
We've talked about this.  
 
I love driving, and I want to drive
you.
Not that I don't love singing  
out the window while you speed  
and the wind whips at my face -
I do.
But now it's my turn to show you
the way I move the wheel.
 
The nerves are on holiday. I click the car lights off.  
Our eyes kiss in the dark
just before we do.
 
Your old habits, as I expected, are dying hard -
your fingers crawl up to grab me.
Wrong move.
One of my sweaty hands hits the glovebox;
the other, your shoulder,
shoving you back into the seat.
I'm leaning
into the kiss,  
making it mine.
My throat's rumbling;
yours is leaking smoke.
 
Half an hour later, I brought you home
smelling like burnt rubber.
My hands did more of the work
than anything else, really.
 
They're going to hold onto the keys for a while.
 
 
~
Age when written: 16