noire
not a waste of mist on the early morning sunrise leaves
wrapped in black bouquets
around the procelain tea you drank
the set left in the grass
where upon a heart you strung
a beaded necklace, dyed
on the lengthened line of tongues
whereon the dying lied
wrapped in black bouquets
around the procelain tea you drank
the set left in the grass
where upon a heart you strung
a beaded necklace, dyed
on the lengthened line of tongues
whereon the dying lied