They don’t talk about us kids
Though Mars is a talker and rants
Around the rooms and hallways
Led by his flailing arms
While Venus gets more comfortable
Curled up on the couch
Pretending not to be listening
Until at one point he lifts her
Into his arms and we here
On earth feel strangely exhilarated
And suspiciously joyful
For a few hours or a whole day
But it’s too good to be true we say
They will never make it
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