[ Featuring Li Ora ]
I lost all my rings in Broadstairs, on the beach in January
Leaning in the sand, I looked at my hands to check if I was lucid dreaming
To find they had overlapped, and the bands of wire wrapped
Crystals slipped off into the damp cloth of the English Chanel
"It's bad luck to compare hands." I think I can fit two of mine in one of yours
Another summer in Queens County: I am leaning into the fan
And look at my hands to check if I am lucid dreaming
The new ring you leant me is stuck on my fattest finger
It will just have to do there until you get back, until I get back my set of small winter hands
When icy winds wade from window into foyer, the ring will slip right off my pointer
Like a strap from sloping shoulder, like it had never hugged the bone there
It will return to your pinky and touch the world wherever, however you touch the world
Only this time, during all your scenes old scenes of mine will be playing underneath
Hot film rolling, while at home I'm holding fruit up to my teeth
Like a bird's claw gripping seed, my small winter hands clambering
"It's bad luck to compare hands"
I think I can
