Patrick Wolf The Marriage
At the foot of a forest of dark hair
Is a door there, and here comes the key
As the grammar of one finger
Forms a language
Of this ecstasy
Where the back of her neck
Meets the back of her leg
Meets the back of her head
Meets the back of her breast
Falling further into marriage
This love would need not shout its name
And as the missile learns its target
Where sediments should stay
As the back of your head
Meets the back of my leg
Meets the back of my head
Meets the back of your breast
Meets the back of our legs
Meets the back of our necks
Meets the back
The back and beyond
