This is the love story of my pillow and I.
If on this stilly Friday night
Who-I-want-to-be-with-me would be with me,
I would carry her to the bathroom and lay her in the tub
And after she undresses I would help her take a bath:
I would soap her back and scrub it with a mighty brush
And I would clean her between the toes and behind the ears
And then I would wrap her in a towel and sit cross-legged on the floor
And wait for her to dry.
Then I would carry her to the bed and lay her on her back, gently
And I would place my head on her bosom and listen to her heart beat
And try to adjust my heart so that it beats at the same time with with hers
Because this is the trick to make her love you
And before long she would fall asleep.
I would stay up all night to count her breaths
And in the morning when her first eyelash awakes I would whisper
And she would ask what’s that
And I would say that I counted her breaths and that there were many.
She would scratch her head and say:
Not someone whose body to rub on mine, but someone whose breaths to count
That’s what I want on this stilly Friday night
But since all inky-haired women are sweetly mean
And since all inky-haired girls are taken
And since all hatted women are busy
I shall presently hug my pillow, and weep,
For my pillow doesn’t breathe, and I cannot her breaths