death came
like a static vision on a radio-wave
still she remained
locked up
forbidden  
bed ridden, in her chastity grave
So I say, " there's a neon church
where I work
and we could exorcise those angels, babe..."
she said, "no way
im afraid that it hurts
that's what the other girls say."

Baroque bed, grotesque oyster
you; it's luminescent pearl
disciple of some ancient cloister
cult of the girl
cult of the girl

death came
like a holy planet spinning stoic in space
still I remained
in pain
a panic
bone manic, at the sight of  her face
so I say, "there's a neon church
where I work
and you can meet me at the altar, babe..."
she said, "no way,
I'm afraid that it hurts"
but little girl; it's too late