Lost in my ribbons again. What to make of all this?
She was a game woman, in velvet sorrows dripping thru in
empty chambers. I think of when the moment seemed
right to let her take a closer look. Fate did not allow
such pretension to seep in. The drapes peeled open and she
let fly. Anyone who saw her that day can vouch for me.

A fog cascaded that Thursday when she went wrong. I was
careful not to forge her name into the open aire. One constant
remains, however: to carve her generosity upon such
joyous nerves leaves much to be answered.

Matter at hand is this woman laid shame to her garden.
Leaning on her crotch, I discovered total sanctuary, and she
made no hesitation fulfilling my darkest yen. The mother
she was with had keeled over and switched her off. She's
too far away to impale her tank now.

Cutting thru the mist, I hopped in a phone booth in
preparation for another hit. The wolves are watching
my every move, as they harness the evening breeze with
each breath. The messenger bird dove into the night,
vainly attempting to rope her back.

God has never been so wrong. For five days daylight
stayed home, and the garden that broke her fall can't
bear to cope why she couldn't prolong another 50
years....