The water tastes dry
As she sits on the park bench
Mouthing words no one hears
Tears filling her green eyes
Cigarettes for safety belts
Stop her from crashing into him
They float away
Paper-mâché whales
Swimming through stars
And the backseat of cars
Silver on the edges of leaves
Leaves the tree and falls
Spiraling down into her soul
Where she feels his hand
Feint whispers beg thoughts
Of cloudy nights and six year olds
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