Wrong French

And there were those films

Made in the Seventies where dolls ran through fields

Late at night, after men

His shirt is my dress

I lost my knees and hands

He drowned my make-up in the white sand

And I'm too tiny for a heart this big

It swells like an ocean

It's breaking the jail of ribs

And he said it won't hurt

And he said it won't hurt

And he said it won't hurt

A lie the size of the sky

And this hotel is dusty and he's locked the door

And the sea's gone so far out I can't see it anymore

I was baking when he kissed me

I put flour in his hair

He rolled me like a bottle, whispering wrong French in my ear