A Dream Transcendental

Saturday morning, eleven o'clock,

The sunlight cascading through the branches and treetops -

From the heavens to my window -

And all I can think about is the way your hair catches the sun,

The way it lays on your neck when you sleep, rising and falling

With each breath.

All I can think about is the way your voice sounds,

The way your breath feels warm and soft on my neck,

And I wish you'd whisper your first words to me when you wake.

In sleepless delirium I saw you here, but I lay alone.

When I rise - sleep clinging to me like static electricity -

The overwhelming sense of gravity offers much-needed lucidity.

Here, on this wintry Saturday morning, somewhere in the midst of suburbia,

Standing half-naked, half-awake, still transcending romance and reality

Like a dreamer set loose in 'real life.'

I see that there's something different about you, something that I can't quite

Put my finger on, something into which I'd desperately like to lose myself,

Disappear.