I pour hot rum over her wings 

She sings when I see 

The olive skin and the smooth neck of someone I used to know

I wish she would sing for me

I wish I didn’t have to slit her out to remind myself she exists without him

I wish she would just sing for me

But she doesn’t

So I pour thick smoke over her

And hear her choke

And it makes me cry

But I only wish my Little Dove would sing for me