shes of the romantic side of town
and her hair is aroused in the breeze the water brings,
and her lips have this salty sea taste
that makes your mouth quiver,
and your body go numb.
her voice makes the sea gulls unfold
into the misty grey sky.
and all the fishermen sing of her as they haul up their lines
and stare at withered faces
in the ripples of the sea.

her skirt it spins in the draft
and her deep brown eyes dilate and stop the world
as the birds stop chirping
and the grass stops growing
and the sun stops shining.
the nearest she gets to boston
is the coffee shop around the corner, which she stops at
on her way to the moon for a big apple pie.
the flowers she picks are dandelions
and the flowers she recieves are pitcher plants
that she crawls into, to meet her esquire
in her polka dot shirt.

and when she cries
the oceans widen and fill to the brim,
until the liquor cures the heartache she's wearing
and dries up the tears.
but the mascara is still smudged under her lashes
and there's a white rim of salt around the jagged rocks
for the next time she has to bite her lip too hard.