condolence hybrid 2

Zig, zig, zig, Death in a cadence, Striking with his heel a tomb, Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
Zig, zig, zig, on his violin. The winter wind blows and the night is dark; Moans are heard in the linden trees. Through the gloom, white skeletons pass, Running and leaping in their shrouds. 
Zig, zig, zig, each one is frisking, The bones of the dancers are heard to crack— But hist! of a sudden they quit the round, They push forward, they fly; the cock has crowed.

innocent of crime

irreparable refold skin
mold in shape of croissant kisses
your blouse a breeze of rosé
your knees blue by genuflecting
as infant the clean handed girl

electric eclectic

been a myrmoderus

wings to  spread

till an orgamsic ocean

fulfilled with

blinking

light

will blast

my inner mermaid