Pancakes On a Sunday Morning

He kicked the chair beneath his feet Freeing himself Forever in motion Forever elevated Forever caught in time My brave solider How sweet are your cries Sweet as the cinnamon On pancakes you told me to try the first time we met. The mixtures still fresh yet the milks sour cow’s got his tongue out your dead laughter fills the walls the rope tightens. So his glassy stare turns to stone A smile whipped and cracked upon his face. You’ve never looked so beautiful.