She would sprint to her house and tell her about the windy weather
And the two of them would bike to Lake Erie—
watching the trees undress themselves in the water
using their feet to flirt with the waves
they felt so restless in the process that they hijacked golf carts from the course nearby
and cruised around the neighborhoods
Millennium Falconing it through suburban Michigan,
spray painting quotes from Ginsberg, Milk and Lucas on the rich white walls
dubbing it “The Battle of Detroit ”—
and eventually they would afternoon on the asphalt, cul-de-sac, kissing.
Making the sky blush purple—

their mouths full of Jolly Ranchers,
and necks full of bug bites,
some from each other

Watching the childish sun being tucked into the night slowly,
While shining one last time through The Ruins of Detroit