Tonight, I skip across a night lake, toes barely touching the surface.

And the air ripples when I pluck at its liquid glaze. 

A desire strikes me. 

I want to see us in embrace, arms and legs entwined, consciousness swirling together like coffee and cream upon floating reverie.

How the night glitters for us in ways the day could never. 

How cool we dream in perfect suspension of space and time,

where snowflakes drift in a summer breeze.

We lucky lovers know what fantasy is, and tonight,

I sleep with you atop a lake we could never cross outside this reverie

to reach each other.

Perhaps I reach for this because someone else has pushed,

someone else has paved the path and now you cross it

the moment I was searching,

but reasons don't change the fact that I know it when I see it.

I know the pleasure of its ache,

the pain of its burn,

the possession of its desire,

and the surrender of its gasp.

Yes, it's true by my understanding and requires no qualifier.