Is it over, sally?
The grass has grown
So did your hair, long
Yes, your nails
They’re painted bright
And your skin
Fair and bare.
Our hands can no longer clasp
Nor our skin touch
Your lips
Still full and pouting.
Our yearning is scathing.
We’re not yet free, Sally
Till we parry the bitterness
the remorse.
How great a sin is it, anyway?
to love and adore you
And to name this babe I bear
after you?
*2 May 03. For Sally, her love.*
