The world wass wet and shiny
glossy appeals left to no imagination
when lucid dreamers are awake yet asleep, asleep, asleep
You can feel the storm, feel the vibrations in the air
dark greyed, once pured clouds
guided by a hand not yet married to you
The lioness with stretch from her dark, sad sleep
feeling
alive, alive, alive
the sound of a child's scream
trivial but so long lasting
The flavours of foreign countries unstrange
to your parted lips
gasping for attention, gasping for matrydom
we will burn her on the cross and call her Joan
the ghastly, ghastly fugure draped in light blue satin
how can you ruin her death day?
It should be celebrated with the same flavour of life,
deliver, deliver, deliver
the desperation
&
notification
pressed to the grounds
wet, glossed, shiny
& perfect