Like half remembered days, like heat on tarmac, Ripples of light seem like pools of water.
But i cannot get too close Without it vanishing,
And lying here I want to know, Did I dream it?
These guttering, flickering moments of fumbling back Towards each other,
Reaching through the mirages of who I thought you were, The me you thought you knew.
Sunlight peaking through the curtains and lightly caressing your hair, My fingers dappled in it,
Lights bringing us to see The tarmac, Finding it ugly, cracked, But solid ground and real.
And that's all I wanted.
Those illusions, delusions, paper flowers.
I'll take the wilting, drooping, Blossoms.
They smell better anyway.