It's a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our alliance.

And you read your Emily d___inson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we marked the pages with bookmarkers
To measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
And the dangled conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our alliance.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
Can a___ysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?
And how the room is softly faded
And I can only see your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our alliance.

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