It was a dream, a moment of weakness,
A tiny trifle in the sea of salt;
The time and space were put on a waitlist
By our drunk and wandering souls.
The people beyond our timeless bubble
Didn’t exist that cold winter night,
They vanished to let us get in trouble
And those who remained became blind.
Warm sand of your sensitive fingers
Warmed up my hands, slipping away
To become gentle breeze, selective and teasing,
Exploring my dress and touching hair.
The words lost meaning, became empty,
We talked with gestures and our foggy eyes.
The silence and dim light became tempting
To make us believe and tell lies.
The music stopped, leaving us sober,
The people returned to watching us,
Preventing us from getting in trouble
And let us go on with boring lives.
The poem is dedicated to a good dream, which was just a dream.