I’ve left her in Shangri-la; it was all I could do.
Her claws were digging into my hip,
Besides it’s better this way.
She was seeking the seashore – now she
Has so much sea it’s sickening.
I’ve left her in good soft hands,
The kind that don’t usually slap faces
Or pinch washed up clavicles.
The umbrellas have been put out,
Look at all the moons and their shadows.
I can only remember, and I do not do
That very well, but I know I loved her.
It was always my desire to crack
Her open and pull her from her casing;
To really get to know the real her.
She would turn so red and tears often came.
But I’ve left her in Shangri-la.
Let’s let that be the last of it.