But you can’t have me
Without my words.
I’m not like other men:
I’m solitary
And brooding.
Some nights
I sit in the dark
And listen to the house—
Eavesdrop on conversations
Between the walls...
Ancient dialogues.
I scry antiques
Still bending light rays
From another time.
You can’t expect me
To be like other men
And shut out visions,
Ignore the very dreams
That are solely mine.
In our house
Are little corners
Where the Thirties persist—
Quiet rooms,
Where flappers
Whisper in yellow light;
As I go through rooms
I walk past remnants
Of other times,
And memories
That are solely
Yours and mine.
It seems we are hidden,
Wrapped
In a rainy mist,
And everything before you
Doesn't exist;
So you are my past…
I'll say it again—
If you want me,
You want my words
But words are merely
Cups of rain—
Do you want the mist?
Walk with me in the rain.