drifting into love


i'm drifting into love again, i don't know what to say
i'm going 
into love again, it's casting its sweet play

the view down from the building tops
the pollen from the pleas
are why we poor boys die at night
up inside the knees

i'm east St. Louis toodle-do 
in love 
that ribs and fidgets me
to taste her birdland thighs as dreamers 
round the bend, 
their clarinets and punchy drums 
slewing the who-now, hoohah whys

	the feeling of my last love, the kindness of that kind?
	i'm in this zone of no account	

on the side that's rough with pawn,
where dawn is drawn in a soft pink line
and dogs look at you funny
like don't you know you're dumb

so everything's a cynosure for what you have become



© Copyright 2004 Peter Chapman

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