My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist in pre-war Paris. Smuggling bombs for the underground. And she met my father at a fete in Aix-en-Provence. He was disguised as a Russian cadet in the employ of the Axis.
o we already wrecked the rental car. And I've already lost my way. But feet entombed in this cursed bar. Today, anyway. So lay me down on the cobblestone.
We are two mariners. Our ship's sole survivors. In this belly of a whale. It's ribs are ceiling beams. It's guts are carpeting. I guess we have some time to kill.
I want you, thin fingers. I wanted you, thin fingernails. And when you bend backwards. I wanted you, I needed you, ohh. To make me better. . I'll love you in springtime.
The Rake:. I have snipped your wingspan. My precious captive swan. Here all clipped of kickstand. Your spirit won't last long. . Don't you lift a finger.