You and I,
we appear to clash on the outside.
But it's nothing pretty words cannot veer,
because we echo from the inside.
And we'll float to a place
that's so light and clear.
We'll float to this place
that even the dream-weaver cannot rear.

There, the crescent satellite
will radiate upon our pages and glide
across our faces, near
and far from fervent tides.
Lips limned with lace
and a weakness for you, dear.
We'll float to this place
that even the dream-weaver cannot rear.

Here, shadows of doubt will deviate
further and further away.
And our coiled minds will aviate
further and further away.

Far, far away.