Mannequin She

At winter garden across our window

Nightmares hunt palm trees and snow

Sleeping on the rigid river, drooling

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Here under these ebony comforters,

Cold passion rejects sparks of desire

As our stereo every rhapsodic tune

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She feels nothing like a cold statue

But how frigid and dismissive she is

Her blank stare frozen on the ceiling

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Shards of untold chronicles of deceit

Decorates our room and bed of rocks

Forbidden secrets cast out of Eden

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Pillows of thorns crowning my skull,

Maybe I should have worn a helmet;

She ate the keys to my handcuffs

Rapadoo,