Windowsill

I sit down, breezy, on a windowsill
Watching rooftops, baby, it's a brimstone hill
He breathes out grey clouds, taking in all of this thrill
I know I don't know him
and I don't think I will

But windows aren't made for touching, just for watching
Just to watch them walking by
And the past moves faster than the steps they take
Dressed in glass reflections, ache for older days

I sit down, queasy, on a windowsill
Feeling eyes on my back, and I can't hold still,
Over my shoulder see them leaving all I feel,
I'll keep writing cures until my words get real

But windows aren't made for touching, just for watching
Just to watch them walking by
And the past moves faster than the steps they take
Dressed in glass reflections, ache for older days

I sit down, freely, on my windowsill
End of april growing daffodils
I breathe out lightly, close my eyes to see
Bites don't sting if from a honey bee



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