The seduction of dreams

it won't be long till my dreams
are seduced again.
the yellow white speckled
parchment paper would do.
i can see the ink blots on it
taking a myriad of shapes
that are as incomprehensible
as the criss crossing shadows
when the streetlights come on.

the afterglow of dusk might
lead to rain. it might not. and
drops of shard memories will flow
down our hands through veins of
long lost emotion; i watch your eyes
watch them as they drip off
and into the parched wind
which was the only stowaway
when our doors were closed
and your eyes shone brighter than ever.
those eyes will make even lesser
sense soon enough.

ever is a word that should
never be written.
it is always a lie.
a beautiful, stained glass emotion
wrapped into itself inside a kaliedoscope
that makes it ever so pretty.
till the sun goes down.
then there remains only
the sounds of tinkling,
broken glass bangles
in mockery of a stupid roadside dream.

it might not be long till my dreams
are seduced again.
but every dream wakes up a nightmare.
the mirror cracks when you ask it to
lie one more time.
there is a rhyme for frayed edges,
a soliloquy for every fear
that takes us hostage in broad daylight.
there will always be songs about you.
but none for you. because.