As much as scallop is fine
And teardrop is owly
There is wind rushing in through the cracks in the window frames
And teardrop is owly
There is wind rushing in through the cracks in the window frames
Just like so many mice
Getting chased by so many things jowelly
Your love is mine
And I haven't found an instance yet where we might forget our names
In the midst of a particularly cold December
Holding hand above brow so visorly
Registering houses in our own catalogue of parts that may or may not combine
Having adjusted for the small creatures that require comfort
And burrowing holes in the ground so rough and miserly
It is your love I will remember
Even as the spring returns to cover spaces in lattice, we too entwine
--
1.4.11
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