you said to me once,
that the dark was your friend,
and that making love in the night
left a sweet aftertaste on the back
of your tongue; cream and peaches,
butter and warm, saccharine honey.

I wanted to ask you to run away,
to run away from this city of black
boys who whistle at me as I try
to dodge their wandering eyes,
away from the overpriced food,
away from the gray sky.

you know,
in alaska, we could escape.

we could become silhouettes,
and flirt with the young kids
out to steal the moon's breath away.

i don't really like this one, but i put it up for the sake of having 100 stories. big one oh oh.