the first time i ran away.

the bend

of my palm

contorted

backwards

a place we

never go

anymore

revealing calluses

the freedom

of sunday

to say

what you mean

and to

mean what you

say

a million

tiny

icicles

hit the floor

of the garage

when you closed

it

for the last time

and we drove south

forever

and did

(in fact)

look back

quite a bit.

- Ariel Quirolo.

~~All words and images are property of Ariel Quirolo~~

~~arieltrisityquirolo(stellascura2006)~~