Love was a promise made of smokenIn a frozen copse of treesnA bone cold and older than our bodiesnSlowly floating in the seanEvery morning there were planes nThe shiny blades of pagan angels in our father's skiesnEvery evening I would watch her hold the pillownTight against her hollows, her unholy childnI was still a beggar shaking out my stolen coatnAmong the angry cemetery leavesnWhen they caught the king beneath the borrowed carnRighteous, drunk, and fumbling for the royal keysnnLove was a father's flag and sung like a shanknIn a cake on our leather bootsnA beautiful feather floating downnTo where the birds had shit on empty chapel pewsnEvery morning we found one more machinenTo mock our ever waning patience at the wellnEvery evening she'd descend the mountain stealing socksnAnd singing something good where all the horses fellnLike a snake within the wilted garden wallnI’d hint to her every possibilitynWhile with his gun the pagan angel rose to saynMy love is one made to break every bended knee