"I have murdered the nightingale", whispered the shadow
and the middle class midgets started making love
beneath the mechanical shroud

the rubber child proved to be less experienced than
the senior members of the committee
so they decided to borrow his limbs
for the private
slideshow

“cut him in half”, whispered the moth
“let’s sell the jangled corpse
and get as rich as raisins”

the daffodils denied him
the opium ladder
they threw him into the rainbow
and then, they left
for the summer

scattered body parts
rained down on each and every one of us
and I can still taste the menstrual
mulberry
that was planted on my door
for aesthetical justifications
of course

your vagina melts like a candle
each time I hide
in your silken wound

let us trade the vampire, sell it’s crooked arm
then fall in love again

like we used to do