Parking Lot

Grouper

Can't stop my sire beckoning
The desert is asleep
Kiss the sky against the rocks

A rush of speaking, am I speeding?
The shapes had moved across it
He took me far and fell into our home
Was it bliss?

Gentle fingers closing my eyes
You disappearing in recline
The night's berth is wide
Hands on the top of these tangled locks
Inward, it rushes out

Her hands on her painted blue skin
A world of pain
They will hear us cry
From the parking lot

Written by: Liz Harris
Sent by Gabriela.
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