You’re my desert, the line between the sky

and where the world gets solid

and willing to divide

I corner you in the bedroom

I find you at the sink

I picture you in the morning

I reach for you in my sleep

I was in love, with the sky it’s like a [bad word] 
I was in love, with my window at twilight

In the back room of my memory

Lives a small boy stocking shelves

of numbered periodicals,

and the dreams I don’t write down

got a typist on the bottle,

my stock boy only twelve

and dozing in the showroom

my many other selves

I was love with the sound of it all

I was in love, with not knowing, anything at all

I was in love, with the sky it’s quite a high

I was in love, with my window at twilight

I was love with the sound of it all
I was in love, with not knowing, anything at all