The Black Tor Ferry – Part 2 Oxygen

Standard

 

A whirlwind of

long tongued

wasters sinking

scheming fangs

into your time,

my love:

gnashing happily at

your younger years

and chewing

cheerfully on

the bones of

what you could

have been.

 

Ah my love,

the day grows late

and I kiss still

the skeleton leaves.

Old man time

has left his cloak

and now,

come dance

with me.

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