A Fugitive’s Love

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On a lonely evening
Love happens
Lampposts away many
City Limits ashy
It is almost as if the rustle of leaves murmurs your cry

Coming to me, as I sit by.
Calling to me to wait no matter what;
That for me there’s no future
Where you are not — that I don’t know
Where to go.

I sit
Watching the wind blow.
Knowing that I’m a stranger when
Our intimacy’s done. That a fugitive cannot stop,
But should surrender; or run.



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