title/artist

Makes me think.
Maybe it makes me think of you.

That was the last time I ever saw her-
through a shop window, sleeves to her elbows.
I walked past and kept on walking
and lit a smoke with my hands shaking.

She was something else

A few summers ago
we spent weeks in her room
just having sex and listening to jazz
and that was the life.

But I didn't know at the time

Blinds drawn at twelve noon
with daylight pouring through
projecting lines on her body

Move on, move on, move on
Smoke your smoke and move on

I should go back to
see if she's still there
standing like a statue