I want to lay with you underneath my car
At an angle where you can’t take off your glasses
At the first traffic light
Our skins touch
Where our teeth interlock
Our tongues intertwine
With your eyelids for a pillow
And your tonsil for a blanket
I want to sleep with at an angle where we can sneeze in harmony
So our spit fit together in perfect squares
At the second traffic light
We are flesh to flesh
With no words to part us
No faded rain drops
No lock on a pair of silk stockings.
At the third traffic light
Our visceral mingle
Our heart touch and beat together side by side
Our intestines connect and leap into space
At the forth traffic light
Our bones rub against each other
To form frictions
At the fifth traffic light
our memories collide
to form ultraviolet rays
At the sixth traffic light
I take a pink scissor
And cut your laughter into pieces
At the seventh traffic light
I take a powerful straw
And stretch out your shadow
At the eighth traffic light
I stuff (your laughter and your shadow) in my bladder
Then piss it out
Short and sweet
On the first blank piece of paper of chance
At the last traffic light
I yell
in memory
in that bathroom without doors.
Underneath my car.