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
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