splinters of suffocating skies and scraps of poetry on our fingers
lying within nakedness on the dusty pillows above the old corner bar,
you point at the island you have for me, the one we’re going to go to when I am ready.
I’m still choosing between the colors I met because I have to find my own Atlantis
and you’re patient enough to let me dance and sleep my past away, we talk for a while and make love for a while and plan to meet halfway around the world for a while.
I tell you about how I ran down the narrow path between your white house and my life and I realized that it could all be a dream. I stopped at the gate looking at the way the sun was boiling. I knew it was the last time I’ll ever see it like this so I went back to look through the window that didn’t have a curtain and everything seemed still as it was, with the yellow telephone and the old bed, just she, she was no longer there.
you tell me it is a memory not a dream and she wants me to be “complete”
I felt I was lost through all the layers of my life and you wanted to wake me up into this new world and I just didn’t know how to tell you that I’m trapped between the dream of my childhood and the one about your island because I am afraid I’ll forget everything once I wake up. I had lived by the power of the mind and the purest of thought without knowing you would find me in the crowd one day, without knowing there was more once love arrived.
you tell me not to fear, all that matters stays within us, we just have to live a bit
so we might as well do it now before the world comes to an end