Behind scar tissue and liner
is a world of moments that last and last and last,
on canals, in alleyways, in diners.

Of clanking stilletoes and satin bows,
of neatly tiled roofs that fall in neatly lined rows.

Of perfect smiles and perfect lies,
Of five hour phone conversations that never ever die.

Of winding roads and blinding lights,
of iridescent globes
& steep dark stair cases & cold dark nights.

Of slow decay,
of lonely women,
of painless romance and Chardinay.

Of ends that dont meet,
in sleepy forgotten towns,
of mayors' wives in flowing silk gowns.

Of strong dark knuckels rapping
rythymically on glass,
of transluscent curtains
and of moments that last and last and last...