Oh we had some good times.
Running threw untrimmed meadows
laughing, laughing until our cheeks
turned red as lips.
Than, oh than the he blew through
the ceiling like a cyclone.
I found the shelf under my ass,
watching the light come through as
fragments dreaming of the real thing.
Dust mites came,
swarmed the finished wood,
to keep me warm through the winter.
Saint's Muse 