Fantasy is fine
When it’s all stuck safely in your mind.
And this thing we are playing
Is just a dream in the breeze swaying.
I hope my muse hasnt been too abused.
I hope perhaps he would be deeply amused
By the silly little games a bored housewife plays.
While in the middle of such  hard days.
I hope there is no harm
In being taken with such charm.
I could write a novel in these
Full of our poetry.
A romance conducted of just verse
Through a screen and not rehearsed.
But I think we are both old enough to know.
That sometimes even tiny seeds grow.
And perhaps it would be a better way.
If we both just went about our  separate day.
And yet I find I linger here
Waiting for your words to appear.

The truth cuts me deep.
Even if that wasn’t what you said.
Dreams are hard to interpret 
When you’re lying in your bed.
I feel like you would convict me.
Of crimes I never quite fed.