You were on the ice tonight
in the fog
in the fog
sudden shadows,
the little pearl you left behind,
I kept it safe,
it’s here in my pocket like hope–
the little pearl you left behind,
I kept it safe,
it’s here in my pocket like hope–
just something I would never give up . . .
Like all the best dreams,
sometimes you have to,
you have to wake up;
sometimes the wind caresses
like a finely-tuned lover,
and some nights I find that
distance distresses
when I’m looking for cover
and I can’t pretend that I’m not crazy about you . . .
sometimes you have to,
you have to wake up;
sometimes the wind caresses
like a finely-tuned lover,
and some nights I find that
distance distresses
when I’m looking for cover
and I can’t pretend that I’m not crazy about you . . .
I climb to your room
high on a royal crescent,
hear a trombone caught in the heat pipes
blow so incessantly,
and on your sultry breath I taste time . . .
I can”t pretend–
it ran through my fingers:
it’s in the nature of things,
the memory flickers
but the??? fragrance,
the fragrance remains insane . . .
— Chris Thomson
The Bathers
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