Quella

Across my forearm lover, my sleeve a chance number, she points to the others, her face a sweet mirror, garett astonished wonder, hearing the whispers, I feel myself crumble, how the world slumbers, at this illicit silver, night winds sing forever, beyond our daily jumble, they make our days hover, fighting over what is done, fire and distant thunder, why we had to run, one unwashed sign above us, outsiders walk under, some won't make sunset, scattered,sundered.