She’s snapping twigs- She’s on the run

“Where are you going with a march like that,

With pictures painted on your eyes like that?

And would you like me to come?”


“Anywhere real far from here,

brimming with distractions and cigarettes”

Her speech swept by in pirouettes

and danced straight past my ears


For I could focus on nothing more

than the look that laid upon her lips

Than her softly trembling fingertips

and promptly then, the floor


“Would you like maybe to talk it through?

At least take this, it’s freezing cold”

I could listen to her till I grow old

and she could keep the jumpers, too


We stick together, just like glue




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