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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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