the imprint of your hand still ship-
wrecks the dip of my shoulder
as you pull up to my apartment.
it’s late, like it always is
in your car. i’ve just realized
we only know love
when it’s in motion, when it’s
half out of breath,
when you say, every time i see you
i never want to leave.
then, i look a minute too long
at the bullet holes of your eyes,
until it’s too still– 
until you carve your arm
into the back of my seat, and
pull the gear into drive again.