The Lane

You wait in line
You stare inside
You bite your lip
Your eyes in a handsome grip
So tight
You hold your head
So still on a heavy breast
The key in hand
To the heart of the promised land
You’re mine
In a pool of roses, we could swim
Only a grand illusion of our earthly whim
A glimpse
You ride the wheel
On a sea of floating fields
You’re drawn, quartered
Left to drift like a poor angel of lust
In a pool of roses, we could swim
Only a grand illusion of our earthly whim
A glimpse