Your skin gets soft in the springtime
Your alphabet gets smaller
Your eyes look bigger and bigger
You’re tuned into your reflection
Your sung numerical landscapes
will lash out on some frozen shore
Your babies unborn in the summertime
A lesson still unlearned
Receiving nothing
Deciding nothing more
A slow and cunning killer
His eyes are fiery cones
He climbs up your room in the nighttime
His knife is new and honed
Deceiving no one
Describing nothing more