Again, she said, and I was all too happy to comply.
“My love,” she said, she cried, “oh please stop staring at the sky!”
Our song, she said, will play until the light gives way to day.
“Rescind,” she said, she prayed, “the vicious things you sometimes say!”

Validity, I thought, was never found but always sought.
I know she saw me fraught with what I had and hadn't got.
“Negate,” she'd always ask, “the thoughts that make you spurn the task.”
“Caress,” she sighed, she gasped, “and you can melt away the mask.”
I stripped away my pain and stepped outside into the rain:
together as we strained then fell apart, connected, drained.

“Again,” she screamed, she pled, “again, again until I'm dead!”
United, dreaming, fed, nothing known and nothing said.
These thoughts, she pointed out, would only fill my world with doubt.
Our love within, without will help us weather any drought.
“Let go,” I moaned, I warned, “before you leave a woman scorned.”
“You seem so damn forlorn,” she laughed, “you're like my Samson shorn.”
She took me by the hand and spoke to me of all our plans.
I couldn't help but land though I could barely even stand.
Sincerity, it seems, is something more than what's in dreams.