I wear a pretty narrow sash
more like a ribbon, I suppose
shiny with little threads of you
and in the sun we melt into
everything we used to do,
a number less than two
you were like a seashell to my ears
I could hear all the perfection so far away
a swirl of water that begged us to swim
but we lived in cold white snow
not gentle flurries
like on made for tv movies
but covering the grass and eating our shoes
till there's nothing left to do but sit inside
and sip booze, sing the blues
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