Backseat Delirium

Dan Nowak

I am your dead lover
tonight, lit candles burning
in your old Cadillac. Saturdays
were never this much fun.

Remember my body, my skin –
it hasn’t missed you. It’s missed
us, our leather and our need
to burn ourselves at the feathers.

We aren’t blue jays, just flightless
angels stuck. I’m on my knees behind
the driver’s seat and your love.
Please make me work for it –

my wings still need a down payment.
Tonight we are more than ourselves,
than our pasts. We are satellites
carrying our galaxies in our mouths.

© Blood Lotus, February 2006