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Sometimes I catch an outline. |
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There are moments when I'm almost sure it's safe to hold my head up, |
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and look into your precious eyes in search of you. |
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Still it's just an outline. |
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Those sideways glances... I see you doubt me. |
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Our self-centred needs have left us floating when we should be holding hands. |
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A pair of hands. A share of hands. A comfort-no distortion. |
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Gazing down at my old shoes, there's nothing awkward. |
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I can move and still be seen, I can lie with you and keep it clean. |
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I'll slide in through the back door to the corner of your eye. |
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Still, we're sinking as we shiver in a world which has no mirrors, |
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Where the glass is just a sliver, where the river's always dry. |
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Where 'time and tide' is just an outline, and always in retreat. |
