Black Ice

Black Ice,

Not a transparent sheet of frozen ice on a road,

But the name of your car’s air freshener.

The air freshener that smelled of men’s cologne and shaving cream.

As time went on, black ice became more than just a smell,

It was a catalyst for dopamine highs.

At first I complained about the smell.

You smiled.

My body became weightless.

A breeze through a grassy field.

I thought, “Maybe this ice won’t melt”.

The air freshener would sway

Side to side

In rhythm with a ticking clock,

Going right on tempo with the beating of our hearts.

With every inhale, the car began to shrink.

Feet became inches,

Inches became centimeters.

The smell began to fade,

I couldn’t smell it anymore,

You hung up more air fresheners.

The swaying began to slow down,

As if slow dancing to Louis Armstrong’s “La Vie en Rose”.

You drove faster,

But the swaying stopped.

The smell stopped smelling.

Black Ice,

Not the transparent sheet of frozen water on a road.

Or maybe it is just that?

I can’t remember anymore.