Fancier Than the Moon
Fancier Than The Moon
You could have been fancier than the moon,
But you are not.
You are just blood and bones and flesh and veins;
Lump of flesh, breast, and hips.
Your lips are for poets, for fancy lies.
I am just a sinner,
A sinner who is damned to hell.
Flesh burningMaggots crawlingHearts rotting.
Searching for the heart I found the breasts;
Lump of flesh
Like a long lost song your beats have been lost;
Skeleton of words,
Blood in my veins!