You've lost time in the best of houses.
You wake up tired in the evening hours.
And so you drift from room to room in shorts and socks.
And you ignore the phone, the friend who knocks.
And you drag a chair across the wooden floor.
You sit at the screen door,
And watch the autumn leaves fall and coat the ground.
And thank you for the easy let-down.
It never seems to work out right.
"We're on your side; our love is blind."
I pretend to know the words.
I smile and look the other way.
I think I must be wrong about you.
And on and on, circles the night.
I push my views; you call them "white."
And round and round, your lips close tight.
You raise the dead and levitate your bed.
I was sprawled out on your bed,
Trying hard to keep my hands behind my head,
Trying hard not to embarrass either one of us.
Yes, I know you're ill, but I was ill first.
It's not so easy being on the other side.
You're about to find out.