Stopped and I wondered on the train
about this girl who sat next to me
because I noticed the dirt from her
shoes rubbed off on her feet
and I wondered, like you, if she might
come home and wash them before bed,
or roll around in dirty sheets till she
awoke new in the morning. Couldn't
know the answer and walked around
fine gentleman in orange vests,
gorilla echoes in the night to call
them underground, under to a vast
other-city, the one above an iceberg
melting in the moon. Couldn't
find her tonight, just couldn't
she already passed above and beyond
and I missed her. Missing you, then,
in foreign scenes, out backdoors, walking
through mild winters on the heath,
breakfast mornings and hot breath
sleeping dead, I'm your Snow White
and you're the apple that kissed me
right before I woke up and loved
all over again, loved the warm
summer sun and wet summer rain
and wild abandonment, quiet music
like I always did and forgot. Don't
forget me because at one time
I was actually important to you not dirt
of this city on your feet from your shoes.
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