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Naked in A Car

by Taylor Stone

Image of a naked woman's torso with an orange butterfly hiding her breasts and her hands touching her stomach.
Image credit: Canva

In 2016, I am 17

My boyfriend is 17.

On a random January night,

And we have driven out to the edges of town,


and turned the lights off

We are surrounded by snow

But on the inside of his 2000 Subaru Impreza

It is a Mississippi evening at the beginning of May,

the only thing missing are the fireflies.

But we are making do.

It is 2016

And the world has done what it does to 17-year-olds

All anxiety in this lankiness

Am I too much body for all this backseat?

What if he doesn’t think I’m pretty?

But when he looks over, I see Aphrodite reflected in the green of his eyes

And realize it’s me, that I am the creature of the divine that he sees

This car, which cannot go over 60 miles an hour, becomes a metal sanctuary to the gods.

I mean it becomes a chapel to us, the deities who are still in high school.

The god we are with the acne scars included.

Tonight, just one night, I am not the pair of skinny jeans that do not fit me or the bra left half empty.

I am not counting calories, I am ascending

My worry and anxiety melt away like the frost on the glass of the windows of our temple

We are the steamy car creators,

and in the nail scratches down each other’s backs, we write our scriptures

My hips are the alter of every teenage hormone we have ever known

so in love with each other, we forget to breathe

The oxygen in our lungs is a communion

The awkward chuckles are prayers to ourselves

In our new religion

There is no war

There is only the feeling of hands holding each other

When I look at him, I do not feel the shame of my cellulite

I know that my body is made from sacred things

And wherever my feet touch

Is now holy ground

I look at him

A teenage god

We’re made of love

When the sun breaks tomorrow

It will not know of the pious promises we made here tonight

But now

Years later, when he and I have become separated by new versions of ourselves

I will wake up in the middle of the night

Fraught with insecurities that have come creeping back

But I’ll think fondly of the nights

Where I became a god


Black and white image of the author, Taylor Stone.
Taylor Stone

Stone (they/them) is a poet based out of Denver, Colorado. They can be found on social media as @persephone_stone, but they can also be found wherever there are disco balls and mocktails. They explore themes of sobriety, queerness, and love in all forms. As well as a poet, they are a photographer, comedian, and cat parent.

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