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Driving at night
The car a part of me
Speeding down desolate asphault trails
Confined to white and yellow lines
But free as a bird in the sky

Bright stars overhead
Made even brighter by the blackness between
My heart skips a beat as I feel a warm touch at my arm
It slowly creeps down, tracing my veins like an artist's brush
Until she finds my palm and the spaces between my fingers

We're sitting on a hill
Watching the night weave a blanket of starry stuff and black lace
Listening to her tell her story
Surrounded by nothing but a quiet rolling mist
Relaxing with the paintress in my arms
Sharing a gaze that only can mean one thing between two people
And loving the mural that is life

And now it is time for us to go
To depart from this hill
Do we leave like shadows sprinting from a match
or do we embrace it to remember the moment
like a moth to his last glorious fiery flight

why choose?
why not stay?
why make a choice that could change something so beautiful?

because you can't stay forever
"all good things must come to an end"
because for every good evening
there is an end
just like for every few there is a cur-
for if you were to flip flop the words few and cur
you would get every teenagers dread summed up in a simple word
curfew
and with that
presto
alacazam
pow
the magic and the art is forced to a close for the night
but magic can not be killed or closed or contained
there will be more nights and more magic
forever more and forever more...
...more paintresses with searching fingers
forever more good endings to good nights

a'dieu
--shoas