I haven't yet seen my lover
the mother who brings my skin to sunshine
cradles me to sleep in soft blanket
pass me down her appetite from her mouth

Is true love a myth? I might never know
if my fingernails stay trimmed
Nothing matters, there are probably a bunch of girls
exactly just like you

Sharp, milky, and crescent-like
who wears her hands like dull box cutter
and illnesses like the remaining
forests after fire