Poor Lady Maybe
Poor Lady Maybe, your bed is cold today. I wonder, was his hand chapped when it cut your kiss, regardless?
All this while I was being born, but really sleeping on an amplifier. You danced off the roof and into my eyes.
I made careful notes and tore a serious shape from the page.
It resembled a glazed Reproduction: drawn from DirtMind sheets and heavenly predictions. A pillow posture suggesting shadow love.
Then the lamp is everywhere and Iâ€™m left wondering