i never wanna hear you say
that the freckle on the
inside of my thigh
reminds you of venus or
stars burnt out and
falling
tumbling
to earth
or other far away
melon-scented
grass-stained lumps
of underappreciated land
i've been running from something
by calling it racing toward
ticket stubs pile up in torn pockets
i just gotta face the fact
that you can't be here tonight
even if you wanted to
if i can't leave a memory
perhaps i can leave a scar
i think that's how my mind works
when i'm afraid of being free
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