deviant

I have the tendancy to run
until my phone is out of range
With those boys:

the ones who drive faster
than they can think,
who gulp cigarette smoke
and purge smokey shapes
to sit in the back seat

I know how to lower the window
perfectly
to make my hair blow just right,
and the wind rolls
the powder from my nose
away

The boy whose tanner left arm.
burnt by the copper sun,
relects the wind outside the window.

I only see his face when
we run the red lights.
The boy who only gets speeding tickets
when I kiss his neck
and says I smell like the rain,
instead of his girlfriend's
cheap perfume.