| The moon
|
| The silver plate, the silver plate
|
| Is cracked, the crab’s back
|
| Bleached with sun, the stacks of
|
| Basalt pillars by the pier
|
| You standing near
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| With all those Russian novels in your head
|
| Fingernails freshly painted red, soft against the bend
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| I want
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| The smell of me, smell of me
|
| To cling to your clothes
|
| When you walk through
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| The city or sit in repose
|
| Like sweet Sappho
|
| Touch electric blue, I think of you
|
| Carrying flowers through the cobbles of the zoo
|
| To know you when you are
|
| Alone as wren in winter (You are without, within)
|
| See you dance upon the
|
| Tiles of a Turkish temple (You are without, within)
|
| To hear you laughing in the
|
| Lounge at late night TV (You are without, within)
|
| To wrap my arms around your
|
| Waist at indie discos (You are without, within)
|
| Oh, to be so blessed
|
| Snow
|
| Began to fall, first snowfall
|
| Outside
|
| The concert hall
|
| The wind whipped your shawl, carried whispers
|
| Siren calls and alcohol
|
| Kiss by the walls
|
| Of the empty street, never discreet
|
| Warmed by whiskey neat, blue notes and offbeats
|
| To know you when you are
|
| Alone as wren in winter (You are without, within)
|
| See you dance upon the
|
| Tiles of a Turkish temple (You are without, within)
|
| To hear you laughing in the
|
| Lounge at late night TV (You are without, within)
|
| To wrap my arms around your
|
| Waist at indie discos (You are without, within)
|
| Oh, to be so blessed |