The time that divides us is the speed of sound
but always, always --
our world keeps turning round, and round
In dreams -- perhaps, we may meet
and, yours  a familiar face of warm memory's -- the one,
I fondly greet
You --
a poet or, painter -- on a Paris street
And Me --
mysterious eyes  
the kind that secrets always keep
a wistful smile of feminine wile
cultured, and fair
with fine clothes, and red hair
Time will slow down
and, there will be no divide
with fluttering memory's
that rush inside
I know when I find you
and, you find me
this time, this time --
this time again
our parallel universe's will collide
and, they will transcend
circling forward, and backward
again, and again --
like two cradling swans
loving again.