We were just orchard burglars of the night, haunting some smokestack as if it could light any hunger aflame and just leave us rockets to the rainbow.
Comb your fingers through your hair and I will be your ring and signet, weaving we the snakes in crackly tubes when our ears exploded at that local show in somebody's basement.
We used to swing under fig and apple trees, but then the dawn changed the meaning of our shadows which, emblazoned in an omen, left through separate doors within the same reflection.
