I once held a lantern of love in my hands.
She was all I could see.
Kicking the brown leaves of childhood around us.
We danced the deep sea,
That welled from the spring of the boy that I was;
Held in her flame.
Feeling her learning.
Watching her burning.
To see the first man I became,
Little lady,
Who made me.
Was it you,
Or is it that old unforgiveness
That I can't forget?
I was her warchild, and she was my wildcat.
We lived in a dream.
Broke up for summer, unfolding the secret,
And woke up downstream,
Facing the current that said that we couldn't
Go on.
Tearing the seed out
With sharp tongues,
And no doubt,
Before it was born,
Little lady, etcetera.
Sometimes I cry in the flood of my guts.
Laughing in sadness.
Bursting with rage in the wounds of revenge.
Bleeding forgiveness.
It isn't you, love, or anything new
I just tasted.
It's myself standing...
Standing, watching me
Getting hung up,
Spaced, and wasted,
Little lady, etcetera.