In a seance, weeping, smearing the lipstick.
Turning on the switch, talking to the dead
and insomniacs.
Feeling a breath of the cold cat
with its red chatoyant eyes.
Weaving me a cradle of an empty dream
in my insanity’s nightmare.
In a seance, weeping, touching your pâté.
Beneath the wings of a scanty crow.
Rated for Teens(13+) 

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I do tend to smear the lipstick when I attend a seance.
You always take me on a journey, Adagio.
Thank you, kindly.