I wrote your name in red,
passionate prose flows when I think of how your glasses slip down your slender nose,
and how you laugh as you sleep,
like all your dreams are tender and joyful.
I’ve been fighting wars in the other realm,
the kind of battles where my fingernails break and scars sit silently on my skin,
waiting for the right moment to introduce themselves.
It’s late at night,
and I’m late to meet you,
sweet and lovesick in the streets as I run, in cheap pumps.
The moon follows with a soppy smile,
that grows wider as I glow inside your arms,
floating above the calm waters.
I don’t touch the ancient wood of the docks,
playful and panicked as you whisper in my ear,
and it’s just like I read in my horoscope,
five words inked and promised in the morning paper.
“Life is but a dream.”
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