by Emily Becker
They say you're not good for me—
your long dark hair,
your soft hand in mine,
we go out trick or treating,
dash across the street without a care,
not knowing what is on the line,
the wind blowing, the music blaring,
the leaves crunching, the smoke curling,
backyards, backseats, sidewalks and stairs,
parking lots, and lots of thrills,
I pulled off your mask—
you weren't who I thought you would be.
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