the gray life. or 'your neck was an ivory tower i came to visit in my sleep'.
it was as if i shook the hand of a surgeon only to find it steeped in blood that now creeps over mine and pools in the spread of my lap. a dark red wine that runs from the corners of the widow's mouth when she learns where her lover has gone. a thirsty arm bristling with needles that i sip from like an antelope licks up mud during a famine. and i watch her play upon a slender chain. swinging back and forth while her pale feet lap at the tips of the tall grass like a sea bird dipping it's wings in the ocean. dancing on a bone white thread looped several times over the dry branches above. and she smiles so seductive showing off the summits of her teeth begging. 'oh won't you come join me. i imagine that it would be just the most beautiful thing. the two of us to revisit the god favored rites of spring.' well i'm sure it would be lovely but i don't pretend to trust your tailor.