Naomi and mark, a few minuits after dark.

I do not want to walk home.
not again.
not to see the narrow
dead flower infested streets
that carry children belittling everyone.
I do not want to face, the lurking memories
of the sweaty, lightly shaking warmth, of your palms.
I do not want the stifling
 utter, unconquered shame
of them
on me.
I dont want this skinny cigarett
trapped in my mouth
my man, wondering where I am.
you'r woman, wondering where you are.
I do not want these flowers,
looking at us.
like we were the reason behind
every rape, of every murder, of every goddamn genocide.
every censor of every thought and every feeling.
I do not want,
this leaking sealing
and you fixing it
and us playing
man and wife
I don't want a pretend life
of you and I
in dimly lit
narrow streets.