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Runaway
Yesterday
I biked barefoot to your house,
face pink and eyes on fire,
and begged you to run away
with me.
We must go now,
I said.
My daddy will be here soon,
I said.
You shook your head so slowly that
I hoped I was mistaken.
I will never forgive you
if you make me go home now.
A tear caught in your eyelashes, but
your head just kept on shaking,
so slowly that I could hear the
flowers grow.
There was no kiss goodbye;
instead I held your eyes from the passenger seat
in my father's car,
face pink and eyes on fire,
his silence ringing in my ears but
the taste of the kiss I walked away from
burning on my lips.
Would you like to know
how I find the four leaf clovers?
It is the same way that
the bees know how to make honey and
the same way black holes are formed.
Today in the real world
I walked down the spotted street,
side stepping the rivers running off the shop awnings
from the rain the night before,
both angry and glad
that you had shown more sense
than I.
As I went I flicked my crumbs to the birds
because they,
like me,
are willing to fight for what
they want.
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