I'm an answer without a question,
Wrong for no reason,
And right before my time.

Poets are the architects of a chimerical paradise.
Living the intangible on corporeal public property.

It seems like the world ends where chance begins.
Your hands as ladders, laced with mine;
We always said our luck was just the residue of design.
We had forever in one handful.

Do you miss me when you sleep?
Am I awake in your dreams?