Her eyes and words are so icy
Oh but she burns
Like rum on the fire
Hot and fast and angry
As she can be
I walk my days on a wire.
It looks ugly, but its clean,
Oh momma, dont fuss over me.
The way she tells me Im hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.
Calls of guilty fall on me
All while she stains
The sheets of some other
Thrown at me so powerfully
Just like she throws with the arm of her brother.
But I want it, its a crime
That shes not around most of the time.
The way she shows me Im hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.
Her fight and fury is fiery
Oh but she loves
Like sleep to the freezing
Sweet and right and merciful
Im all but washed
In the tide of her breathing.
And its worth it, its divine
And I can have this some of the time.
The way she shows me Im hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.
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