Are we dreaming again?
We’re pollen
Whirling in the sky, oscillating between low and high.
Pendulum swinging freely but always coming back to me.
We’re just dreaming.
What would I do without your fantasy?
As much as it hurts, this is sanctity.
Let’s confront this transfixion. Why come all this way to be written as fiction? We could transcend this tension, even though we’re so afraid.
I’d love you again anyway,
if you would just wait for me.