In my right ear the sound of water
Almost a stream, into nearly a pool
All the rest we imagine
On the beach, tiptoe cold water
Shared lonesome interrogations
“You seem unsettled
Can you not look at me”
I turn to see your smile:
Red lips; all the words say
I love you
It takes a while
But I settle
Here among the simple folk
Drinking the Moonshine pale ale
Where arrangements are made
To meet a week on Tuesday
By when apparently all will be sorted
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