A Love Song to Carmen Sandiego [Expanded]

I fell in love with a woman who was addicted to leaving.
We met at a museum.
I was staring at a piece of modern art, feeling stupid,
my head tilted quizzically like I was a dog that had just been given an unfamiliar command.
Ghost-quiet, she appeared beside me and said, "You couldn't pay me to steal that shit."

I said, "People pay you to steal things?"
She grinned.

Maybe it should have been a red flag when I asked where she was from, and she said, "I'm from everywhere." Maybe it should have been a red flag when she took note of all the emergency exits.
Maybe so many things should have been red flags, but maybe I'm the kind of person
who sees red flags and thinks, "Oh look! A parade!"

She was very interested in my stories about the stage makeup classes I took in college.
"Wouldn't it be fun," she said, "to take a train out of the country
and pretend to be somebody else?"
So we adopted fake Scottish accents and declared ourselves to be
Mary Maceachran and Sorcha Lilliputz.  Her wanderlust
fueled us from Reykjavik to Buenos Aires, from capitol city
to capitol city, a delirium of hotel rooms I could never have afforded.

I woke up one morning to a note that said,
"If I could see your smile, I would never need to steal the Mona Lisa."
The echo of her laughter resounded in the empty hotel room
like the bells of Les Saintes Maries de la Mer.

Carmen,
Where you going next?
I've got my suitcase packed and I'm ready to leave with you.
And there's nowhere in the world I wouldn't go,
So don't leave me here so lonely in Cairo.

I would meet you in Minsk and kiss you in Kiev
And hold your hand on the banks of the Thames
I would fly from the Mojave all the way to Skopje
And never look back

You have ten different passports, I know
Hidden in the pockets of that beautiful red trench coat
But since you're on the lam, let me run awhile with you
Carmen, where you going next?
'Cause I've got pesos by the purseful
And this handy Finnish phrasebook
And two pairs of dark sunglasses
And a box of fake mustaches
And no one will know our faces.
I just need to know, where are you?
Where in the world are you?