Parallel Lines

What's the immaterial substance that envelopes two, that one percieves as hunger and the other as food. I wake in tangeled covers, to a sash of snow, you dream in a cartoon garden, I could never know. Innocent imitation of how it would be if one the music entered, you did not retreat in my imagination, you are cast in gold your image a compensation for me to hold. Parallel lines, move so fast, toward the same point, infinity is as near as it is far