If I sneak this in the postscript of this letter
It might remain a secret, you might just know better
Tracing-paper rhymes, tracking down the lines
I'll see you in good time, tracing paper rhymes
We wear the streets of this town, a scarf and a winter coat
Ice breathing hurts heat, your eyes freeze the streets
And to you it feels too close
What haphazard joy, what softspoken ploy?
Will you be my boy, haphazard joy?
I live under a blue umbrella, I lost it despite the hue
But loss cannot be factored in, standing next to you
The happy number: time is a fraction less divine
The ice on the street is part of me, to stand alone is fine
