Parking Lot

Can't stop my sire beckoning The desert is asleep Kiss the sky against the rocks A rush of speaking, am I speeding? The shapes had moved across it He took me far and fell into our home Was it bliss? Gentle fingers closing my eyes You disappearing in recline The night's berth is wide Hands on the top of these tangled locks Inward, it rushes out Her hands on her painted blue skin A world of pain They will hear us cry From the parking lot