In my car, driving to see you
and in my car again, driving back home –
in too many half-full parking lots,
in hotel rooms and in a slab-walled
prison-cell dorm room, in my bed,
in my roommate’s blue and narrow bed,
in my room, in my mom’s house,
and in my room, here, sprawled out,
empty, fists –
in a room so pink and soft it hurt
and outside, in nameless space –