BAMBI

you — pressed against my side in the back seat of a moving car,
the smell of rum on your breath, warm in my ear as you laugh, 
a half-empty bottle clutched in your hands —
your past-life pirate showing through.

street lights illuminate your face, momentum forces you closer to me;
my breath catches in my chest because you are so beautiful,

and I wonder if anyone has ever loved you like this before. 

your long hair brushes my cheek when you turn to look up, 
squinting through the moonroof, looking for stars,
like you can you find Polaris from here, as a sailor would,

and I imagine you are my north star, guiding me home.

shadows swell when we turn, the heat from your body draws me in;
all I want to do is kiss your forehead, bury myself in that warmth; 
but the millimeters between us seem to stretch on for miles —

and I think maybe it’s for the best that you don’t love me back.