Wet streets, white flame.
Bone girls talk under rain.
You're smarter not to hurt about it.
And look forward when you cry.
I'm not the type to see through promised lies.
Smoke pushed into the forehead's crease.
Sounds of airplanes and stains smile.
Yellow hair tucked beside my ear, I heard you say goodbye.
With every click, I'm not complete.
Writing this for you...