you walk creaky red shag
hundred year old wood
in a hundred year old flat
It's a gray day
the street is never silent
as you serenade your new guitar strap
and score ping-pong to my head
It's a gray day
I dream of marmalade and cookies
Nutella stuck in my gums
and pancakes
a gray day.
My toes are curled in air
thick with coconut
you scraped thin with your own hands
it's a gray day
The strawberries ripen crimson
without sunshine
because they love pollution
it's a gray day.
You close the door,
to play more private
but I want to be there with you
on our gray day
in Paris 1925.
No comments:
Post a Comment