The Secrets of Tabula
Summer's dying on your bloody hands
Sunbeams exiting your mouth with every breath
Gold and silver cases of every heart you took
A rose for every little death of mine
Nipples blooming purple for your perfect tongue
Hands so deadly steady cold and blue
You took the yellow out of every crazy thing we've done
You took every red was in our sheets and the rose-gold of our souls
You removed the blue out of every night we drunk
Now you want Tabula Rasa
You want a new Canvas
Or my spare heart
-Pete M. Yangin
