I will build you a house
and a garden of bones
where Children go laughing
and men live alone.
I’ll tell you a story
of lips, mother, and wine.
From the mouths of mime puppets,
a tumble of words,
tied to the feet
of whistling birds.
A tangle of whimsy
to lay on your breast,
whose eyes taste the winter
and none of the rest.
I’ll tell you a story
of lips, mother, and wine.
When ere we go crawling
on feathering knee,
through long shadow canyon,
a cloud scattered sea.
See... make a pillow,
a death reminisce,
of lovers gone falling
to steal a sweet kiss.
I’ll tell you a story
of lips, mother, and wine.
I will build you a house
and a garden of bones,
where Children go laughing
and men live alone.
