I never usually dream,
But I dream of you
And the fact that I do is torturous.
Perhaps, it is punishment
For what my mind perceives as guilt.
And like every poor sod
I wonder,
Do you think of me too?

this is a haiku
I don't think you will like it
it is very short

press your hand in mine
tight enough to feel you there
loose enough to breathe

the moon can wink
I swear it's true
at least I think
it winked at you
I wish the sun
could wink as well
but on the sun
it's hot as hell
and with that heat
his eyes are closed
and cannot open
I suppose

Fingers up,
grasping at bubbles;

Why do I always
fight for air?