In London, at a cool summer night, I woke up to write
I would walk on the street naked, and think of your wanting me...
You said, don't get naked, it's cold there
The Atlantic is between us
I wonder if lust is like the summer haze
Fading away, but still
I see you sit on a bench at Parnassus
I hear you talk inside Moffitt
I feel you touch my body with your mind
I never dreamed of you
Instead I woke up and wrote to you
