On this cold reclining chair;
On this white paper sheet
With its sterile static-cling
I wonder:
Could they bring forth
Enough of me, and of us,
To send some other man,
In some other world,
What we were and what we had?
Could I bleed my love into a bag?
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
On this cold reclining chair;
On this white paper sheet
With its sterile static-cling
I wonder:
Could they bring forth
Enough of me, and of us,
To send some other man,
In some other world,
What we were and what we had?
Could I bleed my love into a bag?