If you may ask-
How do you seem to be brave all through the charms of winter?
Even when the cupcakes of Yule sits on my tongue, poking the frost on my breasts
Hear this evaporating silence, the language of concrete sand melting into this segment.
The eavesdropping of sanguine moon, pulling my hair up
to listen to my talks as my cigarette drops the ashes on the surface of your face
i melt into the rim of the broken glass that you dropped
you heard my heartbreak and my pillow talks
and the winter is dying now
i sit here in the Onion layered chair, screaming the cling
that pathetic cling,
swing, swing, swing