There is a pure art to it
The way we carry out our alternate waltz
At night you warm the sheets,
keep the lamp oil burning
Allow me to tread through your unburdened dreams
And tiptoe around your naked soul.
Noting your fantasies,
Yet in the cold harsh daylight of the morning
Our dance glides to a halt
The insecurities and doubts sing out from treetops
A tune we both know well
Like a memory bubbling on the surface of a crisp hot marshmallow.
The taste still lingering on lips as you amble through your usual routine
As soon as the morning air sets in, you shake me off
Like a wet leaf clinging to your coat tails as you balance your world.
Forging ahead in your conventional realm
Suddenly our dance becomes a solo affair
I fall back alone
As you set off into the sunrise