Paramours

It's funny.

Time was the illusion we fell for

As paramours with secretive dispositions

Eluding the truth our eyes conveyed. 

It's sad.

Castaway by open wounds

Only the other could mend

Without miles between our empty beds.

It's fanciful.

Collecting seashells 

In some gray room 

I've whisked myself away

And back to you.

It's needing.

Over the ocean 

The gods have cried,

Paramours

Linger by ocean sides.

It's illicit. 

Rendezvous in the deep dark dawn,

Paramours

Shaded blue

And separately drawn.