Crawl across towards your window. I'm calling softly from the street. Always a lonely widow. Half awake and sleeping on my feet. I'm of age but have no children. No quarter phone booth calls to home. Just late with television. Inside my bedroom all alone. There is no use in waiting. Offer up your steps so I can climb. Show me all your figure paintings. Etched in the middle of the night. Let me stretch upon your carpet. Let me hear the rain tap on your street. Knowing I am safe on the inside. Blankets wrapped and drifting off to sleep