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The Luxury Of Tears
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Christian Death
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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)
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