She lies in bed asleep,
while I shed the deep
shade of my birthday.
My sun's low red leap
is her *****-edge moon.
Tonight I sled steep
drifts of draft, palest ale,
while her head sweeps
her day to dream.
Happy hour's dead cheap
but I go home to pack.
My zee's her zed, heaps
of them for her, I hope.
Evan's heart is hers to keep.