Sometimes when I come home at night
And nobody is there to see
I walk around in three inch heels
A bull between the pottery.
I want to see all awful things
From three more inches off the ground
A tiny shift and all at once
The world's the fox and I'm the hound.
A warm summer night
The sun is gone, but I feel
Her breath is still here.
My lungs overflow
With breath, yet I only speak
These words: I miss you.
Each day when the sun crawls out of the east
I reach a furtive hand beneath my bed
I pull past-smelling beads over my head
And know you’d claw them off me like a beast
Each day when morning blushes at night’s lust
I say a heathen prayer unto you
To stoke your hate until I feel it, too
My patron saint, a child of the dust
Though you now live at night, wallowed in clay
As in your youth it cracked upon your skin
I make my pilgrimage to your bright day
That house of rising sun and golden sin
Like filthy blood beating a heart astray
I’m knocking; you can hear me; let me in.
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