Drizzle

She drives you home that evening
through the core and past office buildings
lit from the inside
hallogen cubicle constellations
against a backdrop of sky

you are drunk on your own
news of maturation
your reflection in her rear view
mirror giggling wildly and then
pushing fingers over your lips
a guilty pleasure perhaps
hide the excitement
imitate the friction
of mouths not hungry
for the chocolate fondue in the back corner
of the party

and she can't blame you but holds
her tongue
afraid she'll burble rivers
clouded with silt and sentiment
if she doesn't
keep her mouth shut
stares down a yellow traffic light instead
wishes hard

at the curb in front of the house you realize
she's still wearing your trench coat
so you peel it off her shoulders
like skin in the middle of the street
while the night drizzles down

you kiss her cheek
leaving lipstick she'll find later
and a thousand stars explode
behind her eyes
when you run inside
lock the door