i wonder sometimes
if this is how you’ll find me
when i’m dead—

you aren’t sure of what you see
with exhaust fumes
and frozen exhale clouding your view,
and there is no light
in this dark
room.
my hands are stiff
(with cold & rigor mortis)
on the steering wheel:
a final gesture of indecision.
the gear is red through the dark,
ready to back up
but unable to
because mistakes are forever
and there’s nothing we can do.
i could have opened the garage—
the button was within arm’s reach—
but through the door
(over the fence)
after the light shocks our eyes,
it could be just as bad.

i wonder sometimes
if can you read
my fingerprints in the frost.
the last thing i ever thought:
“is a love that never happened
better than a love loved and lost?”

-

a/n: note to self, take some risks.

ps: please, lack of capitalization has its purposes. open your eyes.