You and I were lost in thought,
and now we’ve found a way
to dance among our memories,
to wriggle from the fray.
Every day and every night
that we’re far apart,
we meet inside our fevered minds
and sweep back to the start.
Beginning at our favorite scene,
a well worn novella tale,
We dance among our dog-eared plays
and pronounce our banal sales.
We make our slogans trite and sweet,
our efforts get mundane,
when our prosaic lullabies
become something plain.
Plain as pain we ran from first,
making our dreams moot,
because loving hurts much worse
than living does in truth.