For me, temptation arrived too easily.
The frost fell,
and with it, anticipation for nothing in particular.
A constant willing in my chest for the ideal,
The perfect, the falling in lust,
The taste of marzipan and an excuse to do so.

There's a light, warming the back of a house.
A kitchen that watches over the square garden.
It's strange to see so many birds here in December,
Snow falls but does not last,
But our grounds are ice, they are white,
They are fresh.
Darling, I hear that it's for you?

"He'll come back to you doll, but you can't wait here"
I imagine she will be gentle.

Oh when did he leave?
He once mentioned he would write.
After the third or eleventh whiskey, I find myself;
Hand on a lamp post.
The same view of the city, as the past twice.
Each building growing from mist.
Morning leaks a dull light onto nothing in particular,
My lips feel warm but usually this goes to waste.
You must've left some time ago,
I forget how your hands felt on my back,
Or possibly yesterday?
Had you seen my play? Had you asscociated me with a book you once read?

Or was I just the girl that walked in at the right time,
The one who ordered the same drink,
The one that spoke the right volume.
'Good god she'll do for now'.