|
Creaking, croaking, cooking nor crooks
During, our love we danced, then dined
On another, lips, and teeth colored
by blood
You even said: I love you both. My soul, my song.
I used, then tried, how lonely, are the winds
Going
and going, alone, by all the birds, and through
The lies, told gently at the end, of the night.
I ripped, and
pierced, the pictures on the spear.
Which stabbed, and silhouette me, as a shadow
To your breast, lady, your hands
are cold and crooked
Like a stone, even in liquid, hot was the house, inside
The floors, and even our feet, tumble
and tumble.
|
