wuthering heights

o, woman, brooding, you beautiful thing

you king of all things you tower over

me how can i take you over you’ll swing

my way one day i’ll take you down lower

i’ll make you forget you’re better than me

you make me perverted. it’s depraved; it’s

a lifestyle; ritual, no: fantasy

yes, i am the man this time. it’s ok, this

would all be fine if you’d ever relax.

i’ve come home (wanted you.) o, my woman,

i’m so cold. here, if you’ll notice these cracks

in my skin where it’s falling out; lick them

shut like an envelope. open up now,

slam my fingers in your open window.