Street O street,
I walk through my day to you.
With my sorrows clichéd, tied to yours.
Step by step I meet your friends of dissemblance.
Cause of peace lost in dust of your hair.
Smooth desires of roughness on your skin.
Joined with the promenade soul who desires not.
I desire to be with you,
O My Endless Friend.
I will think on every pore of your distressed body.
Yet my speech of sense has gone for a walk,
Left nor right I may find you resting.