Sick Soul

Horse urine, plus October mud churned in his nostrils, heralds of a dying year
Their rough hands left her here, 
A miraculous thing, sweet, popping, still glowing
At least her head was freed from her Dirty Parts, their words echoed.

"Do you remember that time I fell off a window?" She once asked him,
all Pink, gold and glittering, her country twain teased his face. He blushed.
"Yes," he replied, smiling.
"You jumped after me." she beamed, like some proud wife. 

The patch of sky that still had light moved ever down, 
waned in impetuous exhaustion, 
They say she burns, forever and forever still.
He blew a kiss on her crackling lips, 
Hell too, is where he must sleep.