The Night I Ran Away

drenched in moonlight, the kind that wolves howl at
by the road with my thumb up, trying to run from my confusion
in the dead hour of 3 a.m. I find myself on my back
making straw angels in some sleeping farmer’s field
cackling like a madman, popping the cork off the wine I stole
enjoying the whole bottle, spinning past paradise
stumbling through backyards and talking to squirrels
I thought I had reached nirvana; she had blue eyes
and a freckle on her cheekbone and she was a dancer
she wanted to spin to the music from her record player
tangled in each other's arms, as far as the stars in the sky,
hiding me from her dad who wore a suit and woke up at six
while I use my backpack as a cloud.

“Tequila Sunrise” sounds best at sunrise,
when your phone is at 9% and you’ve ran away from home.