drive-thru elixir

it’s nearing 1 a.m. by the time we pull into the drive-thru,
and the night has us brushing lips in the yellow light.

radio static whines between each shaking breath,
the air thick with Good Luck, Babe! synths,

and i finally understand why balloons 
prefer the sky to sticky-fingered kids.

thoughts are an ingredient God skipped before
she popped me in the oven, but i don’t mind.

how could i when something as infinite as 
the stars or the street lights or you exist,
when we’re granted a moment’s immortality 
on this golden pock-marked pavement and—

—and you roll your window down, order a Baja Blast.
you ask me what i want, but i’m still pinned to your lips,
frozen with another stupid reason. Chappell can’t blame
me and neither can i—your green elixir has already
ducked into our dance, a sweaty plastic potion. you take 
the cup in your hands and i take it from yours, and we 
linger, but not for long enough.

the road calls. one hand goes to the wheel as we peel off,
the golden light fading, your other hand intertwining with mine.