Your morning moves and crafty grooves restrain me from the afternoon. Long before the death of moons, knowing daylight comes too soon. Yet the days and the nights and the winter bird flights will never murder the distance plight. Your past sets at our waste a divide stretching forever of walking through the weather as one adore together. You promise of things better. Better is a letter I never failed to send. Better would be never placing the pen in my hand. Notes on the desk hurt far much less than notes on the glass and the liver they grasp. Yet the nights and the days and the summer time haze will never see me out of your maze. The days are gray in June and May. Aren�t they? Your face and its shapes are a puzzle I hate and the way I so eagerly take your bait. While you rest in your slumber state, these are the thoughts that I contemplate. Like smashing your head with a metal grate. No wait. Don�t go. You know I love you from so far below. What I say is just show�like your love�you know.