My feet sink in the cushions I bathe my knees in tears Throw-pillows clutter, memories Of making love right here All thoughts are interrupted The television steers Images in my direction The storm at mind not clear A box filled with your pictures, Your notes and all our things Spilled over on my floor, transmitting Like a chandaleir A torrent of emotion Your eyes they start to blur Like the couch on which I sit Despondant and azure