I miss coming over without so much as a call,
letting our wrong notes ricochet off the bare apartment walls,
playing "Boots of Spanish Leather" on your guitar.
I miss the smell of oil and honey in the room
and bitter black tea hot against the drizzling afternoon;
front door gaping, and the cold air pushing through.
I miss those mornings I'd stay til two or three,
you playing Dragon Warrior, me watching half-asleep,
myrtle blooming in the darkness and the heat.
I miss the nights we spent staring into space,
watching rain obliterate the lot around your place.
I miss those nights spent staring into space.
Now I stay up in the company of ragged hungry cats,
and prowl below the balconies, and stare up through the glass.
Cut-up figures in the bent blinds flitting past.
The hours that once were effortless, they all got stuck somehow.
I never knew I needed you, but I'm lost without you now
on the porch swing with the floodlights all around.