I’ll dance with you, wearing nothing but moonlight and popsicle sticks.
I’m the enemy they cloned for you,
A hybrid of two,
A collection of cunning, a pocket full of whistles.
Whisper to me, Henry.
I’ll fly the night’s kite with these eyes and pluck you out of you sorrow.
I can pick you out from a line of lion heads, but only just.
A well wishing man came to see you today,
I gave him your wife and rode them away.
Far away, into our nothing, past our luggage and quaint curiosities.
The next day a witch knocked on your head,
And I sent her a pocket knife, to dig at you with.
You cried like a child and I laughed as you sobbed,
I bade you farewell and kissed a lark the shape of a crescent moon that very night.
Next week I woke up in a place very strange,
The curtains, the pillows, the rugs were all chains.
I hated the place, so set it in ice
I think I need to reach for something, a balancing beam perhaps,
Something I keep next to the spider, sitting on top of your baby blue lampshade, dollface.