ou et la femme?

raindrops on her eyelashes
in which entire cities froth
a haze of lazy days, not his
and i, a flame who misses moth

nostalgic croutons with their lush
and tangled geisers presently
crystalline fairy wings rush
and how i hope for her to see

never again find such a chuck
to wander with throughout the earth
we’d walk off if my wings stuck
to look for all of wonder’s worth

she did in fact, teach the torches
they did gain their charm from she
and i, play guitar and sit on porches
wrapped in blankets, let us be.