Placing Your Lips And Shoulders On The Carpet
Post-December Hors D'œuvres In Cold Apartments
Once We Comb Our Feathers And Cure Your Longing
We Sleep As Winter Pigeons On Pavement Falling
Grinning In Clothes And Timbers As I Departed
Holding Your Hands And Fingers As If Applauding
Hunting The Moon; Hung So Low, We Might Have Caught It
Placing Your Lucky Clovers On The Carpet