If you are wise you'll run into the night, fluttering away into the cold,
wearing perhaps the laciest of shifts. The lane's hard flints
will cut your feet all bloody as you run,
so, if i wished, i could just follow you,
tasting the blood and oceans of your tears. I'll wait instead,
here in my private place, and soon I'll put
a candle
in the window, love, to light your way back home.
The world flutters like insects. I think this is how i shall remember you,
my head between the white swell of your breasts,
listening to the chambers of your heart.
