In my dream, I couldn’t find my coat
I walked back along all the streets we’d been.
Charles Aznavour showed up, ready to croak
I said va t’enculer Chaz, go gargle Listerine
or at least look. We searched street after street
People sat and laughed at us. The road was awash
with puppies, some of which became my feet.
I gave up, sat, Chaz got going with his lyrical cosh.
Then not only you roll up in this ridiculous pink Allegro.
You step out, wearing my coat. Damn. You wear it well well.
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