you tread the city so quietly.
tip toe delicate around me.
don’t send a word, don’t wave a flag.
and I wait to see you on trains
and I avoid brooklyn like the plague.
(if you wrote me I would drown.)
the boy who loves me would wilt,
knowing I hear your voice still.
although soft, although dreamt,
like notes that rise real slow
to the surface
from an underwater piano.

I'm still waiting for the song the end.