If I sneak this in the postscript of this letter   It might remain a secret, you might just know better      Tracing-paper rhymes, tracking down the lines   I'll see you in good time, tracing paper rhymes      We wear the streets of this town, a scarf and a winter coat   Ice breathing hurts heat, your eyes freeze the streets   And to you it feels too close      What haphazard joy, what softspoken ploy?   Will you be my boy, haphazard joy?      I live under a blue umbrella, I lost it despite the hue   But loss cannot be factored in, standing next to you      The happy number: time is a fraction less divine   The ice on the street is part of me, to stand alone is fine