She calls across a field of wind •
That sweeps her words away •
Crawls toward a memory •
A softer, paler day
His ink stabs holes through her book •
Of lies of secret loves •
His silence draining moments •
Like daggers spilling blood •
And all she wants is time
His frame a silhouette •
On a gathering sky •
Her sprint a pirouette •
In an empty field of lies
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