Are we of this way love ?
I asked questions hidden under washed clean sheets,
Are we playing dream games for the selves tomorrow ?
In this last room on earth, ive been building a window,
To climb into the dream.
Are we closed behind this missing space ?
In this aborted lie that I want to tell, but live without,
And never learn from.
Are we together or out to-get-her?
In this book that you wrote for me,
So that we could be us.
