The night is cold, and sweet as I kiss.
A game is on here that I just can’t miss.
Chat up a young woman, so very pretty.
I try to be charming, say things so witty.
A light in the distant darkness, orange eye.
I follow it into the bitter night, a great lie.
I see her as light, to burn away what’s broken.
I’ve made her a Madonna as we’ve spoken.
I see her as sex, as love, as the healing mage.
As the partner in crime, a voice to soothe rage.
I can’t see who she is, for what I want her to be.
I can’t see the continent above the black sea.
And, the game over and won, her on her way,
As the naked branches in silent prayer sway,
I realize it’s another dream, to replace a nightmare.
A dream of love, touchy-feely, to alleviate this despair.
And people aren’t dreams, or angels, or even mages.
There are not perfect words written in notebook pages.
They are like you, angel and devil and lost and found.
A voice calling in the night, while you are deaf to the sound.