Her hands crept around his neck, tangling in his hair to keep him closer, even though she knew that beautiful boys with expiration dates couldn't be held, only borrowed for a time.
The locust has no kingJust noise and hard languageThey talk me over
The ReleaseIn those last moments beforethe platter of salt and dirtlay on his stomach, wax-lighthad waved across a mute heart, his son waited by the bed.Raised to believe the soul leftthe body with it...