You live now where only dreams are allowed to embrace

You live now where only dreams are allowed to embrace... I'll drop by unexpectedly, to recall what wasn't ours, in that place. Then unpack the tea set of porcelain or faience, And light up a record on the gramophone, to warm up with a romance. I'll come very quietly, in secret, like the moon in the night. I'll come — just wait, don't close your eyes from tiredness, keep them bright. All the worlds in this moment will suddenly converge for our meeting. I'm afraid I won't find you in and will search for you an eternity. It's nothing. You waited. So I'll wait too. It's no burden to me. Where you live, I'm a guest. And joy is what I hope there will be. Sleep won't let us through to warm each other. It resists. I see. There you are, sitting. But it seems no passage exists. Now I live where you are too — we're neighbors here. It's better so, just until I invent a way, my dear, to steal through the dark along a thin thread of light and hold you close. And yes — even if only in dreams, at night.