There's a ghost, ghost in the mezzanine
And she's soaked, soaked in a glimmering
Sort of bone
Her bones and I'm blathering
To count all her freckles, to touch her bare ankles
The breath of the bread while it bakes
How I ache, I ache in the pit of me
I awake, awake with this fear in me
How it makes, makes a fool out of me
With its knife how it carves the seeds out of my heart
For to plant in the soil for to feast
You are sweet, sweet as a nectarine
When you speak, speak softly and gracefully