Lies Lovers Tell

On the pillow, a trace of perfume.
On the sheet, a pool of desire.
On their cloud, theirs alone,
no getting up, no going home.
They tell each other a few lies,
& like all lovers, believe them.

They want dreams’ hope to
hold back swift-running rivers.
Morning dreams visit, wake them
with discomfort, hold more lies,
again believed, & they feel cold
water rush through their hands.