The Marriage - Patrick Wolf

At the foot of a forest of dark hair

Is a door there and here comes the key

As the grammar of one finger

Forms a language of this ecstasy

Where the back of her neck

Meets the back of her leg

Meets the back of her head

Meets the back of her breast

Falling further into marriage

This love would need not shout its name

And as the missile learns its target

Where sediments should stay

As the back of your head

Meets the back of my leg

Meets the back of my head

Meets the back of your breast

Meets the back of our legs

Meets the back of our necks

Meets the back

The back and beyond