Howling to the moon wasn't something I normally did, but that day had been just too much.
Green, green, the things I've seen.
Twice in my life I've felt as I did when he walked into the room. The bright orange sun back-lit his head -- a halo for the devil incarnate. My last temptation and I was helpless to resist. Was I?
Blue, blue, I haven't a clue.
Escape. Across the world we flew with our backpacks and ever-shredding jeans. Trains, trains, rocking through the night. Misty, sticky mornings, we hear the foreign tongues and long to brush our teeth and clean the dust of travel from between our toes. And then, the cheap hotel and our love-making to the sounds of Gypsies begging in the street below.
Red, red, he warms my bed.
It rained in Krakow and we slunk through the streets trying to avoid the clamoring tourists and the hands on our wallets and backsides. Feeling, stealing and waiting for the sign to tell us when to leave and abandon the freedom we'd lusted for all of our lives but couldn't keep, couldn't hold.
Black, black, we circle back.
The hole in my soul yawned wide and sucked me down through the green and blue into the darkness through to the bright orange of the sun and I heard his laugh and saw his eyes -- blue, so blue.
Why cry? I didn't die. Did I?