if the sound that gets made with each going away were to lean on my knuckles to come then the spinning about making moths in my mouth like a hymn from the heavens would hum babies sweet on the floor ever calling for more ever tasting their flight on their tongues see them roll on the ground with their bellies so round know they re bound to keep rolling along and mrs juliette low sings so pretty and slow singing boy ain t you going so wrong if your voice is to pray and your legs is to stay then where you been going so long yet still the light likes to fade at the end of each day and it shines like a curtain of glass on to some state of grace where her movements take place ain t we always so going so fast in the chill of some gray afternoon in the still fading light of my room i ll be aching to say lover don t go away and we will not go away