| better words . . . . here there and everywhere |
And I can't remember When you first tore into me And made me ragged And soft as a doll Or when it was That I knew How your eyes would feel, So heavy and thick against me, Like a thousand drowning men Or how I ever talked to you, So plainly, of nothing, When I imagined so much, And blushed with each word Those slanted moth wings Bare and stretched, Beat on me With your silken song, Your perfect breath Merry Christmas, my sweet baboo. |
better places . . . . over under and through |