In that box lined with blue velvet

I’ve hidden my love as an extreme secret.

Her name is Emma who lived by the bay.

She’s in there ’cause she’ve just passed away.

 

Yesterday was a dream that didn’t blur:

Black hair, red lips and boots with fur.

Today is a nightmare of elastic ugliness:

Pale skin, dry mouth and decomposing senses.

Day by day I talked to her absence.

Talking was my habit of eerie presence.

 

One morn I woke up, I found the box empty.

So I sobbed hysterically in the name of insanity.

Days had passed and Emma didn’t appear,

Though I had searched the sea and the earth with tears.

“Please, oh please if you see her,

Tell her I want her back ’cause it hurts.”

 

Then I wept till the twelfth of that V day’s eve

And Emma stood by the door, I couldn’t believe.

‘Where have you been?” said I.

She’s dead so she didn’t reply.