Only my imagination can speak her name
While she tenderly lifts you out of bed
By obligation or by bond
By love or simple kindness
By the threat to my stars
She dresses the wounds of my love
And I know she is real
And I have never suffered for someone's kindness
I have suffered betrayal, dishonest mouths
Angry hands, denial and abandonment
But I have never suffered kindness.
And who am I to suffer that you suffer less?
What great hatred for my pettiness grows
Cold lumps inside my stomach
Love curdled into sour milk