If You’re Fancy Free

If you’re fancy free,
you and I might go clamouring
through a night heavy with stars.

On our way to a dancing club,
overflowing with fools,
they will know us by the way we never speak,
by the writhe in our gaits.

When we meet like unspeakable boys
with nowhere to go:
Isn’t this scandalous?
Yes, darling, it’s scandalous.
A voice that’s hardly your own.

The passers-by glare; the shivering pines bow.