Warm

Listen to the Warm

By Rod McKuen

I live alone. It hasn't always been that way. It's nice sometimes             

 to open up the heart a little and let some hurt come in. It proves 

you're still alive.  I'm not sure what it means. Why we cannot 

shake the old loves from out minds. It must be that we build 

on memory and make them more that what they were.                      

And is the manufacture just a safe device for closing up the wall?  

I do remember. The only fuzzy circumstance  is something 

where-and how. 

Why, I know. It happens just because we need to want and to be 

wanted too, when love is here  or gone to lie down in the darkness                       

 and listen to the warm.