Reflections
Well I did want to talk about love,
But there’s so little that I wish to know about it.
Crinkling like tinfoil in bright sun,
Folding over, captured in the new moon air,
Creeping over the window sills,
Climbing through the pumpkin patches.
Sinking into the inner rooms,
leaving copies of itself along the way
Peaches covered in thick fresh cream
Brown sugar cane and dark molasses,
A grassy path in a secret wood
But there’s so little that I wish to know about it.
Crinkling like tinfoil in bright sun,
Folding over, captured in the new moon air,
Creeping over the window sills,
Climbing through the pumpkin patches.
Sinking into the inner rooms,
leaving copies of itself along the way
Peaches covered in thick fresh cream
Brown sugar cane and dark molasses,
A grassy path in a secret wood
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| Reflections on Second Avenue |
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