We are shadows.
You awoke me from a dream.
Observing silhouettes in the pavement,
moonlight visits us.
Black chalk outlines
fading into each other.
Penetrated by light,
separated.
Splitting our suffering in two,
never mending.
Sweet juices of forever trickling in-between,
separating our togetherness.

When I think of your sweet lips,
sleeping and dreaming of tomorrow,
I visit and try to tell you I am sorry.
Truth is not relevant to love.
Truth is obsessive,
full of agenda.
Truth is beautiful.
Beauty is false.

We shadow each other.
It is a game.
We are a puppet show,
strings and cloth,
dioramas,
perceived depth, and fake sunsets.