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What are our dreams
If not our personal constructs
Mistaken as fantasized realities
One for me and another for you

What is your black and my white
If not a palette for a common mid-way gleaming gray…
An abode for cathartic smiles
Born of your lack of sorrow and my intense joy

Those sacred vows
Those creased thoughts that you slip hurriedly in the side pockets of my jeans
Languishing on the periphery of our perceptions
Make me long for your caressing gaze

Our dreams form
My dreams are fed