Bright rad rose on melting snow Early spring is in our lungs The icy air flow I love her habit to stop when traffic light is red Even when there is no cars That evening when she nuzzled into my shoulder at the crosswalk I smelled her perfume mixed with smoke and wet dust That was the first time I wanted traffic light to be frozen and never become green But as soon as I thought about it she playfully ran ahead, dropping a flower that was braided in her hair. Run Away...