Lime Tree Part I: Standing On A Doorstep, Full Of Nervous Butterflies

And you find yourself wide awake in the sunshine, singing that silly song: "Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head? And does he sing to you incessantly from the space between your bed and wall? Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes, looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you?  Oh, does he know that place below your neck that is your favorite to be touched? And does he cry through broken sentences like, 'I love you far too much'? Does he lay awake listening to your breath, worried you smoke too many cigarettes? He had eyes bright enough to burn me. And in a story told, she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field. And there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed. And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry's end, where I wrote: 

'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.'"