I don’t know why she’s in my arms now.
She’s just as rigid as she ever was.
Not even blood pools out her private body,
She thought she’d save it for her wedding day.
The rocking chair creaks like a mourning dove,
The mourning doves are gone.

I wanted to write you before she was gone,
But the shotgun smokes black, but I’ve done it now,
but I’ve…read more