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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