My honey is a surreal dream.
Her laugh reminds me of,
the seashore at dawn.
But I've only seen her face
in a reflection of a burning match.
At the break of day; she's gone.
Her lips like marshmallow
and the intoxicating smell she leaves behind,
after her 4 am showers.
She thinks I have fallen asleep
when she loads her gun,
at an ungodly hour.
My love doesn't sing of love
but she makes love like,
an angel trapped in a burning cell.
And every night in my pretense sleep,
she ponders about the things
that she will never tell.
Her clothes smell of cigarettes and shotgun.
She lies about her bruises.
Hides the shirts; torn.
My honey is a surreal dream.
Her laugh reminds me of,
the seashore at dawn.