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of the moon. He spends his wet heat, A relentless tide, Of life's essence and power And elation, inside His beloved mystery, His unearthly guide, The incorporeal spirit, Of his dead, blushing bride. She's there in the lolita boys collection
of the moon. He stays there a moment Against the cold stone, Where each autumn he mourns her, Bereft and alone. He shrugs off his tears And suppresses a moan. 'Twas good she died young Ne'er to be an old crone. She's there in the lol rompl art
of the moon. He stands and he turns, Reluctant to go, Sad to leave her alone, To face winter's snow. He bends down on one knee, 'Tis All Saint's, you know? To place a wreath of remembrance, His love, the world show. She's there in the lolita land ls magazine ukrainian bbs
of the moon. The children all call him Halloween Bill. He exits the graveyard After drinking his fill Of port wine and whiskey, A drunkard's cheap swill,On the morning of All Saint's. He won't come here again, until, She's there in the lolita photo index magazine
of the moon.