It was rich, the walk into the caramel house
The carpet and the wood pen-sketch hung on the wall
And the beautiful little stall
by the kitchen-window.
I looked at his direction
With the far-side of the eye
trying to muster
The most unrichly face of affection.

And sadly
Everything I ever wanted
Surfacing in the glass and the berry-staining wine
that in my lips and in my finger, corrosive it stained fine
Everything I ever wanted - yes - I saw it splendid and reflected
Purposeful, ressurected
In his palms, in his specle-frame
And not least
in the fireplace's tortured flame.

His friend, flicking cards,
countenant, counting conversation-yard
left to find a beer by the dispenser.
And if I look like a New Yorker cartoon
you belong in a 60's decorated saloon
playing piano like Ben Folds
And calling me your tiny dancer.

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