CWTF IV - Small Films about Young Women, Deceit, and Exceptionally Good Coffee

Sun flares through the cigarette smoke film
On the underside of the windshield
She laughs, eyes soft pools of brown
The tone of her dress matching the interior upholstery
Small town scenery rushes by
As warm summer air pours in through the open window
Sickly sweet and intoxicating

Sprawled in the midst of an overgrown garden
Climb the ladders in her stockings
Twigs etch their names in ivory arms
Hands get painted brown with loamy soil
Her dress smeared and stained

The sirens of several ambulances
Ring through the crisp night air
Their lights illuminating the streets
The color of blood and veins
Take hast, flee the scene
Down a winding country route
Past lonely fields and crumbling churchyards
Cut the headlights, kill the engine
But the agonizing truth
Of what has been done by your hand
Does not punctuate
Not yet