Incidental III

We looked toward the woman And my face burned red, blushing When she asked me the questions Are you ever alone? Are you younger or older? I held her close In my thoughts some way wanting In spite of the sorrow My tensing in terror On the strip of Ventura With the tin barrels burning under a halo of moonlight When the hour was lonely It was the way that she touched me Her arm on the window And the way she said "baby" And the way she said "baby"