In Circles

we walk in circles,
beginning at the
end
simply so we know
what we must do
in order to get things right.

i dream simple things,
star-bright pseudo-memories
in which i ask
for a cup of tea;
of course,
and why would we not
drink earl grey
in front of the fire?

the radiator
clicks and creaks
and wakes me up
with incessant heat;
someday i will know
that my sweat is artificial,
but for now
i awaken
and still expect
that it is you,
smothering me. 

do you remember yet
how it should go?
will we fly?
or will we remain â€"
i must know, and soon,
so as to maintain
this pattern in which
we walk
in circles.