Miss,
I've heard it on balconies above, and through walls (above the TV's din): her wails. Coming: up for air, down with your hair. Miss: oy vey, voyeurs on display. On you, I want to have that too. But you have your right to your silence or science.
Miss,
I heard you making coffee one morning. It reminded me of a song that I then sang, though most of the original lyrics were forgotten and so i had to improvise replacements. You may have thought my song was aimed at you. But it wasn't.
