for the love, Iʼd fallen on
in the swampy August dawn
what a mischief you would bring young darling!
when the onus is not all your own
when you’re up for it before you’ve grown

from the faun forever gone
in the towers of your [bad word] I’d a tore your hair out just to climb back darling
when you’re filling out your only form
can you tell that itʼs just ceremon’
now you’ve added up to what you’re from

build your tether rain-out from your fragments…
break the sailor’s table on your [bad word]  [bad word] the fiercest fables, I’m with Hagen

for the [bad word] the burning young
from the liver, sweating through your tongue
well, youʼre standing on my sternum don’t you climb down darling
oh the sermons are the first to rest
smoke on Sundays when youʼre [bad word] and dressed
out the hollows where the swallow nests