“But we can run away together!” The anguish buried deep in her words rings out way past their length of sound.
How shall he comfort her? How might she be reassured?
So close to dawn, the night has died in restless fever to be soon embalmed in madness.
Jeneviève lays on her side, her rich eyes set and pleading, searching unyieldingly into his.
Ironisait responds, “When stories are shared freely of where we are and what we provide, then anyone can find us, though we stay hidden in plain sight.”
“We! Us!” she screams, “But you are doing business with criminals! Breaking the law. These are bad, bad people!”
The quiet that follows brings beauty from where it’s waited in wings to return.
He more than welcomes what he sees to be a soon and buoyant dawn.
“When all is made open and known,” he says, “no one ever gets hurt. Then we have less laws to break.”
I don't know anything 