Words disjointed and drifting in the gloomlaughter muffling nearby to where we arewhile at a tilting table in the bar…
A brown leaf scraped at the window panejust when Ihad thought I had lost enough to cry.
There is an island in my breast, all snowywith whiteness, frosted in tons of billowycoldness of pain, and hurt of a cold wind blowing…
My love is like a red, red roseA red, red rose is sheAll day long beneath the willow boughsShe suavely swings my baby
I do not know, I do not knowWhich way the wind is going to blowIt may blow West — but I know thisYou’re the one I want to kiss
If I hold to the soft lightand you to the sadwhat makes it such a wrong ‘right’that we should be glad
That daywhen spring is comeand birds blow song
White blew across the bluelike lucent paint on skyand one was shaped like youwith head and breasts and thigh
We stood on a hill in the hollow windand our words twisted like leaves on a stemin the storm of feelings held at bayby onslaught of…