Beatrice, I moved around your house like the ghost of a grandfather clock out of time

I touched your walls they bled yellow behind the shade of peach still drying I tapped at your table that old bear groaned I slithered past the rocking chair it grabbed me by the stole I slipped into your closet boxes, boxes and folds unpacking still? So then I moved to the cellar Legend has it he kept his women there in ageing bottles I once dusted the layers

and as you open the creaking door Ill disappear into one of them, dark and bleeding red For you and my man Just dont break the bottles