Mourning my Dreams

Sometimes dreams are just too good to ever come true.

Safe in my hand her hand lies,

I notice not the jealous eyes;

my own two are preoccupied.

 

The music plays, she swings her hips

comes close and leans in for a kiss;

the ecstasy flows through my lips.

 

The situation’s almost trite,

elation seems to slow the time;

But all good things must someday die.

 

I realize now my hands have lied!

Her perfect lips grow cracked and dry

as mourning comes with open eyes.