I find you again and again
filling up my dreams
the way that dandelions fill
the turns in a thersitical strip of concrete.
Pressed against me
in our own transient Eden,
naked on a molecular level
I find you flailing in and out
of being like moonlight on choppy water.
If I offered my heart
would you trade it for another?
Would you purchase it whole
or amend each part individually?
My love is not a rope meant to bind
but a muse meant to inspire.
I have a lot left to learn,
teach me and I will listen.
I am not half-hearted
still I have yet to nullify the distance
between fantasy and reality.
When I talk to you I get the impression
that you don’t remember
the taste of my mouth
or my skin turning to silk
beneath your fingers.
Then again I forget
much of what I dream as well.
mindlovemisery 