I dreamt of a Russian doll bride
Who spawn on the points of the feet like a child
But I had the terminal pride of an older man
As it passed over a cross on a post
But the angle decends in the shape of a crow
And buries its beak in our unfused bones like its okay
Like a moth goes sad and soft in the streetlights umbilical glow
It was love that laid us low
I worked out of town after dark

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS