binding to your crucifix, you've got no cross to bare
as we whisper through the drywall, crying nothing but despair
i can see you in the garden with a flower in your hair
some time ago
remember me my darling like a sailor to the land
as the apple that you've stolen from the branches of my hands
when i'm cut in two and tossed upon the ground on which you stand,
you'll be alone
and riddled now with weariness, you're growing overtired
of the stem and of the blossom of the apple you've desired
and hibernating, dream of all the wealth that you've acquired
all winter long
and waking, you'll be lucky if the sermon you've prepared
(the soliloquies of serpents serve disease in ragged pairs)
can buy us back our love before you no longer seem to care
that you were wrong
as an apple in your hand is worth at least two in the bush
we're sharing now this sovereign where the lost would never look
and if we're counted on to write it down in some forgotten book
we'll watch our backs
and tell the tale of lovers in the garden that we know
naked as the daytime all among the fallen snow
as we were dreaming of temptation, the adults got up to go
cover their tracks
the fuzz; the writing; the huge guitar in The Still Waves; when the huge drums come in for the second verse of The Waltz; the fact that Summer is the only tune in history to make me want to dance. Camellia sinensis
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