The Luxury Of Tears

In a phallic, stone tower

We rise and fly or stand knee deep in water

Skin is smooth and damp

Every time he crosses them

And there are bones in bed with that child,

A figure behind the glass,

Me in his mouth

The man has come and gone,

Aroused my photographic memory

Orphan sons and his raw hands

(Were slammed in his face)

Like fire under whores

Insect, smiling eyes project rain

Blaze against his teeth

The luxury of tears burned my fingers,

Spinning devils of snow

The luxury of tears burned my fingers,

Spinning devils of snow

Oh devils must know the luxury of tears

Changing his shape, he raised his eyes,

Eyes masked with green

Threw out his arms, pulled open the door

A moist, sour tongue down the silver screen

Usher in the bleak years

Through his yawning neck

I undress in his throat

A passion for dust

(Was slammed in his face)

Pull them down by the wings

A rose from my ribs

Stole back up the stairs

(And laughed in his face)