Civeta dei de The Number Twelve Looks Like You

Pick up this doll
watch the girl dream
cups spill what holds, what holds, what holds tomorrow
clenching the fist and raising the brow
as glass enters the vein.
Justice shines in her dark eyes
an amber sky drips a tear upon a sunset
this is sephra's dream
ten crowns drop
parchment paper crumbles when curtains fall
shade this tribulation in pastels
silk feelings hurt.
The river holds the color you describe as love.