Friday, 29 April 2016

Handmade Dreams

Every night I fashion a dream of you and 
of sleeping on your arm, me, 
an imagined me, or just me, 
the dreamer on a bed of dreams
I must bring my pillow
Along, and your warm breath
Somedays, I need them too
Sometimes nothing will do
Doors open into beds, blankets fly
Closed night skies churn
Endlessly in the galaxy's open- raw womb
Pulling me into the dream
Pushing me out of it; 
with me, even if as a ghost,
Your hand palpable in warmth 
But missing here when I wake up
Faded handmade dreams 

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