Dreams That Dream Poem by A Waltz For Zizi

What dream is this, in which you are the glass
from where I sip my passions.
At the banquet of blue feathered giants
you are the flower they plant among the stars
in their ritual of love.
A blonde and freckled venus, tip toe walking
alongside the river of flaws, leaving behind
a sculpted trail of broken hearts.

You're the woman of my dreams
and yet, you love me.
What can be more unreal than this?
A kiss, of course
but, 'What is the price of one? ' I ask you
in the hour of the dream's departure.
'It's free' your lips answer
with a swift parade of coffe flavoured kisses.

'What am I to you then, a friend, a lover? ' I ask.
'Silly boy, your just a dream.' she answers.