We are waltzing in our ballroom
Cooking up bad poetry
If it’s any consolation she declares
I have quite forgotten my name
But I think I found a key somewhere
Past the watery pool of tears
In the forget-me-not forest
High up on a table we cannot reach
As we dance we are waving
But not drowning
How wonderful it is
To skip on our toes and not be swimming
In sadness and regret
No longer hidden behind a haze of bad dreams
But poking our heads out of the Rabbit Hole
Eager to discover if what we think
Is real or imaginary
Either way our thoughts are melting together
In quiet understanding
Like milky white glue stitching up a repair
In our shiny black shoes
Who dares wear the patching in the sun
Lest it melt
But then our toes would feel the grass
She squeals in delight
As if there are no longer any downsides
In this story
She is busy baking, flour on her nose
When finished we sit at the table for cookies and tea
Though I do not feel we should eat any more sugar
Starfish and seabirds roll past our eyes
Everything feels like a movie
But crystallised, like an atomic blast
A cubist painting but soft at the edges not hard
She giggles again
As we switch seats and take fresh cups and saucers
When we awake form our reverie
On the page will be a poem
And the queen will declare
Off with their heads
Whether or not our words are good or bad
But we will escape
And our words will follow
Neatly in line, like a pack of cards.
