Time moves forward,
The earth spins its silk,
On mornings wed with buttermilk,
Your ingénue sleeps,
Under a honeycomb sky,
Weeping sweet into her dream soaked eyes,

The walls of your heart were a dusty rose tapestry,
An interior of toothache and sticky ghosts,

He called for that criminal kiss,
For the warmth of the reminisce,

Her limbs were snug,
Gathered like a bouquet,
Thrown at your temple floor,
Sleeping wrapped within his holy grail,

Blossom spilled from his hallowed lips,
You whisper I taste of rosewater and new worlds,
Meaning the summer was lost inside us,
Consumed by a religious hunger,
In a locket of wild heat,

Arrest your memory before I forget,
As us criminals often do,
I fly alongside hope,
Like a honeybee in rain,
And pray I will make your sermon change.