Green with envy,
She strikes a pose,
Of languid contempt.
A deity of soul.

The thorns and not the velvet blood,
That drapes across the sea,
Of rose bush and bramble wood.
Lost to you and me.

Beneath the flawless skin.
Surrounded by hallow bone.
There she dwells in haunting wait.
For me and me alone

Laying eggs against the brain,
Twisting tales,
Which chocolate spades
Bending truths.
In the everglades

So she’ll leave
Green with envy.

So she’ll turn you.
Green with envy.

 
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