Small boxes, housing smaller lives;
Crawled their way back from all sides.
Jumping moments and skipping beats,
They’d hurry back home, their only retreat.
Naked bodies, dancing through the sheets,
Empty minds rushing for a momentary release.
‘Making love’, they’d call it.
Knowing that’s the closest they’d get to the real deal.
Too many things to do, too many places to see.
Yet their minds are closed to the virtues of being free.
A whole life gone to create a generation of memories,
But they evade that one moment they could just sit back and be.