We're spinning 'round
With French umbrellas
And you introduced me
To floor-based ministries
I'm a grief-stricken Pagan
Without a conversion
Our trysts were ablaze
With awkward precision
Songs have been written
About my weird sojourns
And six AM wake-ups
With Plato on deck
But we'll shuffle real cool
Down streets lined with leather
Inside debates, forever at last
Our hearts should collide
Until I lay still
In shadows corporeal
And someone shall find me
Betwixt dark brown wale
And I'll be a good ghost
With-out a sound
Cycling on damp streets
And running stop signs
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