“You don’t have to go.”

Are you kidding?
I’ll be shot
by your father’s pride
if he so much as sees us
standing next to each other.

“We have to come clean,
some day.”

How can you call it clean
when all they’ll do after
is soil our name
with venom?

“You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”

I’m scared.
Of their looks
their words
and their actions.

The sun is rising.

“We can make it work.”

There’s no coming clean here;
just coming out
and falling out.

“So, you’re leaving?”

Last night was
but the sun’s our jailer,
and you know it.

“I love you.”

You know I do too.
So come a bit closer,
convince me this is worth it,
and tell me
we can do this again tomorrow.