Jeffrey Foucault I Dream An Old Lover
You still come to me in dreams
This little bed can barely hold
The dark beauty of your eyes
Burn like a fire in the cold
Comfort is the only kind
Hearts like flowers bloom and fade
Against the chill that finds the bone
Is come from dust to dust in trade
Your sorrow for another coin
A phrase no lover fails to strike
The record of our briefest kiss
The shadows of our love alike
As memory and the sea are deep
Inside our blue and nameless blood
Coursing through this mortal fuse
The flower with its frailest bud
You still come to me in dreams
This little bed can barely hold
The dark beauty of your eyes
Burn like a fire in the cold
