nostalgic bout/bohemia

do you remember when i told you that you belonged to me? we were parked inside your mom's black car and of course you do. it was exciting that i finally owned you and you me. we recounted our final indiscretions, squirmed, then soaked each other up. invigorated by the possessiveness, between the steering wheel and leather seats, you clung to me for hours. how intensely gratifying, finally capturing the once elusive. you lit up. i caught fire. termites chew my windowsill. body hair accumulates on white tile flooring. i play guitar from my bedroom window to an alley full of louder noise. the starving artist is not romantic, he's self-serving and diffident. there is no johnny depp pose, only neglected health insurance premiums and dishes. a lack of resources or energy, the beats are stubborn, waiting for gems amidst gas bills. department of water and power. dead car battery. battered by the turbulence of the coming days. withstanding a barrage of realism for a single line that'll light up the inner sky. We laid in the sun. We made love. Over and over again. We staggered through those days in a serene haze. An old lady took our picture. Both of us staring in opposite directions. our deepest womb of dopamine, even then, existing on different pages.