Running is not an option,
because there is a pond between us.
Your delayed gaze from across
burns a hole in the front pocket of my shirt.

Rambling is not an option,
because nobody wants to listen.
We throw messages to each other, they
fall under a million shaking voices.

Arguing is not an option,
because lovers do not disagree.
Words leave my mouth and travel until I
forget what I have said.

Dreaming is an option,
I'd like a penny for every nightmare, so that
I could afford a rocket to take us away.