The back of her neck I look, of an old lady she has, I know.
The one shoulder of hers exposed, the shape of muscle means, with arm of mothers.
On our parting, on a mole under your eye, the cigarette put out.
To be waver, a flog riddin’, on a ball of rainbow.
In an ark, to do the Radio Calisthenics, 1/8 in size.