On smock of white,
Smell of blood echoing around hir,
Ink wasn't working so she spelled with blood,
Coy grove Around hir sweet legs,
Like memories of sweet words of him like pearl tear around floating-falling from eyes to ground,
Twig of moon beam glint
Drunken
"Call the man who made me red"
Man replied with no sound of silence on the moon river bank.
Black but still she could see the cuts on flesh of hir.
We must meet in the air
And have an affair
You and me
Me, you
In life after life.
