Our Trojan Horse

We hoped that we could, but we thought that "we can"

For in reality we were apart, but we had an ingenious plan

All our thoughts and desires we would program and shift

Into a quixotic reverie for our amorous tryst

We had selected the cards until they had told us a story

'The Lovers', 'The Moon' and 'Judgement'; memento mori

And all of our desires were turned into fanciful notions

So we could be hidden together, as if in a horse for the Trojans

We synchronized and focused and uttered our mantra

Separately self-fulfilling erotic rites to awaken the tantra

With our myth-guided faith, it was a step and a leap

Into the delusory domain of illimitable sleep

In the glades and the forests of a black and white scene

I was in the pitch of a night of an elicited dream

I sensed foreboding and ire; I heard an ocean's waters pour

And I was stumbling from cover to find the sands of its shore

And she was there! (In my chest my heart was pounding)

On a moonlit beach, a lost soul, a mermaid floundering

Beckoning she implored, her eyes alight, reminiscent of flames

As I ran through the gorse, to the sands, we were calling our names

Under the glare of The Moon of a questionable Earth

Hand-in-hand, we walked to the waves of a soporific surf

All of our desires were that of an elixir of erogenous potions

As we escaped, for the moment, from our horse of the Trojans

We were out of sight, in our minds, but with murmuring lips

As the praxis unravelled and quickly became illusions and tricks

And there was a rage that was burning, there was a knife in a bed

With somniloquence the treacherous Trojan that alerted and led

In a quixotic reverie of an amorous tryst

The ephemeral sands, beneath our feet, began to shift

Her fading eyes were pleading and she was dragging me under

As my body cramped in the place of reality's slumber

We had turned selected cards to find our dreams to share

But the final Judgement rendered was not to spare

We had thought our Trojan horse was an ingenious plan

Covertly salacious, we had hoped, and thought that "we can"

Now the night is an ocean of silence and a forest fire has burnt its course

And there's nothing but darkness and the ashes of a wooden horse

'The Lovers' reversed was the joker, but not the end of the story

For 'Death' was the last, but unturned; memento mori