Last Saturday

in the secret filled tunnels of an obscure playground,
We thought of children playing, teens crying,
adults dying.

You were sweet,
a cold glass of water when I was in the
August sun.  Your words, unspoken but true—
"I am going to fall for you."—
strawberry and peppermint innocence.

Coffee was me; dark, bitter, addicting.
You were a French vanilla cream to make me sweeter.
We were so young; you were so naive, untouched,
Untouchable.

Together we hid—
soft breaths in a midnight game of manhunt, afraid
heartbeats will give you away—
safe in the corner under a desk, escaping thunder
that cannot touch you—
Just us, hidden, and nothing else.