Clouds watching hammered streets as he sings by
He's like intimate watercolor fog in alleys
He's like tender cut glass on parking lot margins
He's bending toward Osiris' effigy
He's got daffodils growing in dreamscape
There's sunrise on her waterlilly hair
She's like whispered drink orders at midnight
She's like rumors of stained glass gallerys
She's kneeling at Isis' feet, sweet cousin,
She's got daffodils in her weary right hand
Clouds paint the whole sky Thursday grey
They're like hints of male-pattern baldness
They're like infinte concrete ribbons
They're bowing before each other
They've got daffodils burning in their hearts
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