Into boats that sailed down the creek,
Where the old folks washed their clothes,
We should've stockpiled our innocence,
But we were abandoned to it,
Like Icarus,
She had difficulty understanding the word dream,
We wrote new stories in the dirt after every storm,
About Aeneas, and Heloise, and Jesus, and Wiglaf,
She made my heart beat so bad,
Every time she skipped ahead,
Her hands covered in the granules of the earth.
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