pancakes

tomorrow i may runaway,
to a far off place
with big leafy trees, and exotic fruits,
orange spices and flea markets.
where the moon is swollen and the stars twinkle cheekily.
where the days last longer,
the sun, somehow warmer, kisses your face
and arms
and ears.
where the air fills each lonely gap in your lungs,
and the people laugh loudly and have beaming white toothy grins.
and i sleep peacefully
and i wake early and make
pancakes,
or something.

but i don’t think i will.
but you might,
and i’ll be here alone,
without my pancakes or something.

~r.j.m.