His eyes...

Oh, his golden, glimmering, eyes!

Never before

In a thousand years

Had I thought that his eyes

His heart

His head

Wouod comfort me so.

Daddy shrek, I call him.

Daddy shrek, and nothing else.

In his swamp I get

Outta his swamp you go

And yet still

In the glimmer of moonlight

While his but cheeks reflect the water

And his ogre ears reflect my gaze

I stare.

And he stares.

And...

Her hair coils.

Endless, meaningless, driven rhymes,

Written upon a bleeding head.

She burns it.

Cuts it.

Marks it.

Colors it.

Tries, if nothing else, to

Straighten it

And yet still,

In the midst of the summer nights,

While the moon shines above the stars,

And her smile brims upon a broken face,

A single,

Tiny,

Sharped,

Bit of

Her hair coils. ...

And in the depths of the night ,

Hands barren, cold hay

While my breath rings upon itself,

Cold mist; a winters quarrel

She follows me.

Green hair.

Blue eyes.

Castrated hands.

A menacing smile.

Her lips bring warmth;

Joy;

A light.

Her tears bring life;

Sound;

A comfort.

And yet every year,

She must leave.

And every day,

She must age.

And finally, in the brink of this madness:

I sha...