In Cars

talking about death under yellow lights
we said we hoped not to die in cars
because where we were going
you could only get to
by going too fast
surrounded by metal that twists like irony
and bores through our skulls,
burning your blonde hair brown
and shattering my glasses into fragments
that could stick out of my spine
so that when you look into my bones
all you'd see would be yourself
reflected in a million slivers,
the way I see you