(unlimited)

the moon was a knife blade though

orange and setting off

fall 

then you got married 

on a hill

to too many people who

all slept in, in the (chauffeur's) cabin

the night before the baby

was born 

like news, nova, 

like stars on the fence

and I'm a fool for this evening

taking all of it serious

as clouds roll over you 

spreading 

your solitude

all over

my bed