Quaila

Am pretty sure of what to do, around your knees, a tattered sheepskin to warm you, when birds thrum the dusk, passion doesn't leave me, the evening smells of musk, I never took you to Vera Cruz, you say I’m not easy, always creating some ballyhoo, a person you couldn’t trust, interesting but unseeing, oh well suppose what's done, but water is not food, its shape is what keeps, admit am an unruly fool, you never wanted fuss, at hospice then infirmary, I’ll look after us, orange fires the trees