The Exit
A sun baked cottage, four o'clock
The blazing heat felt inside
It's presence squalid, existence muted
Within these walls it's cold

I see her there, laying, floating
An angel dressed in mortal clothes
A subtle ticking, seconds passing
An empty presence felt through all

She smiles softly, it echoes loudly
The warmth of which no sun can stand
Her eyelids closing, my hand she's grasping
Radiates a simple joy

At last a share of wealth's desire
Here within my blood fed hands
of which she suckles, my own fine fingers
and locks her eyes upon my own

I come in closer, slowly gazing
Into her stare ablazing fire
My eyes, her eyes, my lips, her lips
All locked with a time's embrace

I let go, drifting backwards
Her figure lays there ever still
A blossom's smile, growing blurry
Hear the steps, and close the door