Standing on the corner of our dream
we’re tiptoeing around each other’s minds.
The wind gets colder,
night sky taller,
thoughts a’racing – different kinds.
The dead of night chases away
even the faintest grain of wit.
But then again, I’m asking you:
Which is it wiser
to lose, to love, to fight, to quit?
I’ve chosen folly, you haven’t yet.
So, I’ll be calm and patient
but I expect
that one day you’ll be kissing different lashes
and mine will close to sink regret.