of the barefoot moon which had found me
in its romance was almost eating up the
lost smoke of the fourteen hills
I’m no boyfriend
being there for a while in the dark
was lost in the romance of the buskers
and topped off with a swinger bar
on Tremont where we had no dinner
all the sparks figured in
that moon at Botolph’s when we just
splashed our faces with a little
grapefruit into the vodka was when
the romance ate me up
it had been a while
