The lines of the wild
A panoramic smile
Hustling, bustling, trestle-ing
Goes stiiiiiiiiiill
Nana, I smell you
In the wool of my new sweater
That matches the pine trees
And the warmth you provided
You’re indignant it’s your style
Like a character from a novel
Maybe you taught me
To be a duck, to not give a -
What? How did you predict
With such an accurate hit
That he would be my him
You called it, left me crying
In the hotel rooms hallway
Where you later would be praying
And praying and praying
For my lost sister, but she was only playing