A call from my couch.
Another day to my 9 to 5.
I took a break to rest my back for a while.
My never-ringing phone buzzed today for the first time.
I took a glance—a reckless one.
It was a call from my couch.
Yes, the one who dreams with me about you.
Yes, the one who believes that every dream of you is a sign—divine.
I picked up the call and said, "Hi."
It replied, "Hello, how's life?"
"Hmm," I said, "How can you talk?"
"Am I dreaming? It was a total shock."
He asked me, "Are you dreaming about her all alone?
Please answer on the phone.
Did you find your time with her?
Why were you up all night?
Will you write your stories without spilling your ink on me—
The things about us and the glory—
While slumber takes you away, and now you can't even blink?
Will she—the divine, the feather, the dance, the shine?
I am curious how you will ends this rhyme.
Without me, without her.
Your heart signaled me before—are you fine?
Your sleep still waits on you.
Hope someday this dream finds you."