I have dreams
Where we have old hands.
Old hands and old faces.
We have withered eyes
From familiar places.
I have memories
Of just your hands,
Of you and I,
And secret plans.
I have frequent thoughts
Of our old talks
So the same
Yet somehow lost.
I have ideas
Of me and you,
Forever misguided,
Just us two.
I have these stories
Inside my head
Books of us
That I hope aren't dead.