| Now the morning was gilded around the edges
|
| With the shavings of bones
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| That were pressed and glued around the corners
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| And carved like soapstone
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| It was gloriously grey-
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| The sun a radiant underlay
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| Fighting, fading, winning, waning
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| Purring behind milk and cloud and snow
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| Now the blinds are up a foot from the bottom
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| I make out outlines of ankles, legs and asses
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| A fresh set sends blood to my ears
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| As the memories flood the levy of my boredom
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| And the final sinewy strand has been cut clean through-
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| There is a pop, a crack, and a thud
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| And you are free and I am free now
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| To extricate ourselves from the mud
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| So you practiced your name in the margins of pages
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| Of a hundred thousand rough drafts
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| I heard they roughed you up pretty bad
|
| You got to climb up the mountaintop and scream out loud
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| And chip your teeth on a bottletop and do me proud
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| When I held your hands in my blood-free hands
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| I swear they were the cleanest ones in town
|
| Take your time and let the tide pull you out to sea
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| Take your time and let the tide pull you away from me |