The Product of Late Nights and Romantic Goofiness

Tonight I dreamed, as they say, a little dream.
Once upon a moment in time,
Once in the daguerreotype world of grays and half-shaded lines,
The two of us were whole and imperfect.
We were colors saturated in a strange hue.
Your hair was done-up, which I know is unlike you
And I had brought you flowers, which is quite unlike me.

As lovers we seem the sort of thing a child speaks,
Silently, in his little smile before the laugh.
We take an eternity to dissolve a minute in our gaze,
Moving slow, in waltz-steps, to negotiate a sigh
And capture the longing in a breath.
The gentle fingers of our souls stretch
Towards the other in a brushing,
Yearning gesture – they’re simply touching
The surface of a glance.

The flowers sit upon the floor
As if you always meant them to, really,
Since we have both forgotten them.

Remember me when you awake and the light
Of the world tips its difficult head to yours to draw a kiss,
And you coyly turn away.
Think of me still when the sun is looking in upon your bed,
And you wish against all wishes to stay there,
And never get out of bed and drink your coffee
Or do anything, ever again.

Perhaps the dream may beat on after all,
But only in real ways, and we can finally meet.
Or maybe I will merely return to sleep.