confessions, from a midnight delusion

when you held my hand in the grocery shop, i thought:
maybe i can spend hot summers with this boy —
heat blistering our skin the way the tropical sun knows how,
your hands, the steady cool, like a dive in saltwater, or a long sip from margaritas (or maybe beer)
over ice; you, with your calm eyes and gentle smile, and
firm grip on my shoulder, fine sand and aprils and mays and carefree souls,
our essence tangled in silent, furtive glances,
touches laced with intent.

or maybe we can walk under stormy skies, sharing
an umbrella, your arm around me, as we give and take
heat and dryness, then
under sheets, you whisper words. promises
of better days and next times, and metaphor,
poetry. you whisper poetry,
and i wonder why i allowed myself
the pleasure of having you in my arms and
in my bed;

then your smile fades and you push me several miles away,
to a land where my feet can’t reach you,
my heart can’t reach you, and i am hit with blistering summer suns
and lightning, drowning in flood —
woken up when i hear your scream:
this is a dream, this is a dream


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