Quick, come to my corner,
I’ll hold you there till the morning sighs it’s un-beguiling chime.

My old mans a dustpan, deadpan, delivered in your sweet shell as an abstract lullaby,
Then we will sleep, tucked to each other like a light and it’s shadow.

In my corner there’s this strange girl, with hair tangled over my shoulder,
Counting sheep, as she and I slide into night.