| Desire hangs on for dear life
|
| On the window sill of the collarbone
|
| Of the one I love
|
| And a glimmering shimmer
|
| Of sweat gathers into a pool in her palm
|
| From a well in her wrist
|
| And the only thing that speaks the truth
|
| Is the eloquence of passing time
|
| The spoken word is a jacket too tight
|
| There’s a shimmering vision
|
| By the window pane
|
| A cellophane figure speaking in
|
| Tounges from above
|
| Theres the curve of a stone
|
| And the crest of a wave
|
| Here are the lips that cracked
|
| And the sound that they made
|
| Desire hangs on for dear life
|
| On the window sill of the collarbone
|
| Of the one I love
|
| The grass spills out and catches a flame
|
| The trees stand up and scream there blissfullness |