Broken radio

traffic lights turning yellow:
a kiss and a slap on the roof.
I taught you that superstition
driving downtown
with the windows down.

late at night, talking over
a broken radio.
and I kiss my fingers,
and our single headlight
winks out for the last time.
we talk about
the last time it felt right to make out.

and I'm certain, if I drive into those trees,
it'd make less of a mess
than you've made of me.