I’m sitting in my kitchen boiling lonely macaroni
and I miss you, oh I miss you, like a wave would miss the ocean.
If waves had to keep on rolling and were forced to go to meetings.
But I still feel a stirring, an itching and a twitching.
That says we’re still connected across all the dreary distance
and all the weary borders, all the meters feet and inches.
All the the time that hangs around us,
as the lonely macaroni boils itself away.
And I think your shadow and my shadow have been slipping off unnoticed
and flitting along highways and meeting up in nightclubs.
Where our shadows dance unnoticed in the shadows of the dancers.
‘Cause my shadow likes your shadow and I think she shares the feeling.
For I’ve often glimpsed our shadows making love upon the wall.
And hugging in the morning as the early morning sunlight
cuts across the half made lunches and throws our shadows snuggling
across the bills stuck to the fridge door by a stolid wall of magnets.
And I know that all the thinkers who have thought upon these magnets
and have measured out the physics so that waves don’t leave the ocean
and very seldom go to meetings although I think they should more
would say my talk of shadows who slip away unnoticed
and cast themselves on sidewalks beside benches that are empty
is nothing but an image that is fleeting
across a mind that’s maddened by too much lonely macaroni.
But I hope your shadow and my shadow
if they slip away unnoticed to hang out in a nightclub
to make love up the wall.
May have at least a shadow of a shadow of that feeling
that itches out and reaches across the miles to you.