townx

A chipmunk hid in the bud of a flower
Looked like a rose or desk lamp
With a broken bulb hand crawling out

In all power cuts it is often usual
But more often not to use candles
It's quite romantic among refuse
In a ruin with a hand ringed
And a scrap of hair
In the pleats of a dress

The patch of her charred face
Is erect over the mantle
You're under it in candles
With teeth pointed and sweet
Blood gathering in your palms
And the bottom of her box