This poem has been hectically revamped, many sentences lie , fatally wounded, upon the cutting room floor

In a room full of strangers’ thoughts
The soundtrack constantly shifts
From euphoric swells to minor chord dips
This complicated dance continues.

In a warehouse full of unsteady careless fantasies
The Mood-swings jive and jangle
Through cracked glass vision, we fumble for our partners
And this complicated dance continues

In a small room, somewhere in Europe, in a hotel by the sea
Outside gentle drunks sing in harmony to the water’s eternal ballad
We are almost done talking, I watch the flames dance in the fireplace
remembering a night, when it seemed you might cry, I think you were angry, again.

In a letter, from one writer to another, a century ago, oh those pesky parallels
The one with the reputation for sharpness is soft
And the one who we thought romantic, picks holes in her sentences
But these aren’t really battles, absolutely no flirting, though kindness is there

The dancers get frantic and the singing gets loud
I try to stop moving completely, but end up moving away,
In the way we move in dreams, floating backwards through the door to the street