Her face wore like soft blues when black holes align
She topples from heaven while waiting to die
Some atrocious monster reflects in her eyes
And all the days after are clear in the night
When asked how I got there, I stumbled on words
I remembered Miss Violin's rainforest skirt
She sat in her small chair while flaunting her verbs
That night I dreamt of a messenger bird
That carried a letter from a misconstrued bride
Flying, unwinding and owning the night
Cause this time he knew that he had to be right
Her face wore like soft blues when black holes align