even without scent,
I think about about your music,
as a bonus
with my crooked knit hat
that you used to speak of.

and lazy lately,
thank goodness
because your image
is in my dreams
once a week, still. 

anyone who believes
in love, especially,
is an easy dumb dumb
just like I used to be,
purple, pink flowers and all.

up to the stars,
we count all of our hours,
so try to keep
your eyes dead ahead
on railroad tracks and nothing else.