Afterwords

What desperate depths you've drug me to...

Still blood to bruise I'd run to you.

So it's the least that i could do to remember you

The way that you would want me to

Those days before these pores improved when,

Sore to swoon, I swore to you

Then ankles bound with trousers round,

I'd lay the way you taught me to.

Loose slacks ascend toward half mast,

Those photographs outlast what's come to pass

I have in my mind the face upright,

The skin was taught... but horizontal,

An excess came from somewhere

To droop down clouding sockets,

Flushing hollows pulling the mouth into a drooping,

Head-heavy heart.

It was in this position of the skin that it looked sadden,

Yet entirely moved by feeling sad.

This is where I knew we met

The Kicking Dead.

Those hips of rose through balls of blue

It's all that i'll recall of you

Those faithful few who never knew?

Well, what they don't know won't hurt you

One sinful slip which slew us two from scorn to screw

I mourn for you who'd flatter me your fleur de lis

Who's elegies still seep from me

And pleased to fondly think of thee

On berber-burnt and bended knees

So rest however restlessly with peace beneath these cherry trees