There's a girl with curls in her hair,
Smelling of cigarettes and ice cold air,
I'm sure you've seen her before,
Maybe in a message of tea leaves,
While she's been living in the lines I write,
And in the threads of my seams.

She's a creature of the sea,
Washed ashore in a dream,
Living life that's unkind to her,
But unkind to everyone it seems.

She's careful and careless,
Articulate and aloof,
She walks along my collarbones at night,
Leaving no footprints for proof.

There's a girl with curls in her hair,
Smelling of cigarettes and ice cold air,
She's the sun to my earth,
She's a small crying child,
She's the tangy sweet juice,
From an orchard on fire.