The poem <br />only exists on your breath. <br /> <br />In the rise and fall of your telling. <br /> <br />It will be another 40 years <br />before I see it written in a book <br /> <br />...and tears come unbidden. <br /> <br />I a little boy <br />crying for a little boy blue <br /> <br />who tells his toys to wait for him <br />until the morning comes... <br /> <br />but being good Victorian melodrama <br />the little boy dies. <br /> <br />Still the toys wait... <br /> <br />for the touch of his hand <br /> <br />...that will never come. <br /> <br />In the real live boy <br />that I am <br /> <br />there isn't a dry eye <br />and I cry and cry the house down. <br /> <br />You kiss
