Isn't that her lounging on the church balcony?
She's in the white dress stained with red and a hint of decay.
Her hand on the trigger that is her bouquet?
A bride and a widow in a single day?
Why did you love him when you had me, girl?
You're eyes shine brighter in the moon, coals and ice.
Your eyes made saints into disease.
I was ready,
but I rushed the heart, you rushed the teeth.
Did she quench her thirst with the tears in the rain
in the midst of a battle with a knife and a vein?
The bells of the wedding and funeral sing,
"Is she in love or is she insane?"
And to bring upon the vows, singing them aloud
as the choir prances to the flower girl and growl
them indiscreetly to her.
Her hymn is a dirge.