Redheady windows

I would stretch out my arms, ♪ I'd feel an elastic jolt ♪ And fly into you like a fire, Into your hot redhead. With charred lips To hurry, burning, to say That English fog is parchment In the mornin' mists of parchment, That I long for the warm ginger The sun, the color of your hair, That with a merry calf licks In the morning the juice of the infused roses And also... that it hurts at midnight To know through insomnia's poison, That you, too, are a shard of sunshine Wandering somewhere else.

1966 London

Photo by cottonbro