Hans Christian
Women in your dreams
Are likely complex
And like a bow string
On a brink of a break
Women of your dreams
Wear cute underpants
They don’t have nightmares
And don’t wait for the Earth to suddenly shake
Them out of their state
Women of your dreams
Don’t tattoo their souls
With cave drawings
Of open fields
And mammoth hopes
And little wants
And little cusses
And little mermaids
And that one paper soldier
Who fell in love with a ballerina
And my mother knew a song
About them
And sang it to me by the Black Sea
In the sweetest voice
Of a mother
And it made me cry
And I kept asking for it
Over and over again
And I will sing it to my daughter
And when she cries
I will resent her
And miss my mom






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