Grandpiano

I picked the most appetizing flowers from these gardens. I know of virgin thighs. Anointed in your sweat. Sat them in a glass. And took the bench between your hips. These are beautiful wooden legs you have to stand on Take me lying down I played my heart out on your rib cage an you tried to sing along But the keys I chose: sour notes And your singing turned to moan This is the sound of dying insides Everyone was sleeping. Slaves to a gutted imagination. The light of the television sprayed us into the shadows on a wall. We: new gaceless mannequins. We: new oil spills. With no eyes how is it you cry.