A study in contrasts.
Ant hills of half-chewed fingernails.
Charred tips of skirts and shirt tails,
Lightning in technicolor.
(ghosts can do most everything)
A vial of sand hung round her neck,
Fillet of weeds upon her head.
But who can sleep with such adornments?
Oh, these things only pretend to fill the empty spaces.
(arsenic should do the trick)
You whispered that love was a revolution,
How I hid my face for fear of weeping.
No comments:
Post a Comment