Lorna

You used to write then, of smoky bars and winters, thrilla and all the rest, terrible streets of stones, trawled over wet kisses, men who're on their bones, but made you their friend, do you want me in splinters, to go over that again, the little lines of loans, dollars dimes dodgy business, houses trying to be a home, nothing else yat happens, sunken sunlight by the river, your missed far off kin, it only helps to know, dreams of those who listen, don our coats and boots, polish them to glisten.