I forgot to dream. The rest ranged
between dusk's final brew and morning's
touch of milk to tea leaves. It changed

through lucid shades of beige, fawning
into ochre tangles I could float
between. Dusk's final brew and morning's

brooding both left absence notes
for her, with hopes like hair hung freely
into ochre tangles. I could float

this air-bed boat to River Lethe,
wait for affirmation I was meant
for her. With hopes like hair, hung freely

parted, I saw futures where fervent
temptations swept the way. A modest
wait for affirmation? I was meant

to keep my thoughts of her suppressed -
I forgot to; dreamt her estranged
temptations swept, the way a modest
touch of milk to tea, leaves it changed.

I am willing to sink into the sound
of night’s changing secrets
where the world sees my breath
wipe away the tears mirroring its pain.
Smiles are caught on fire,
wooed by this poet,
but do not reflect the same.

Instead of playing under trees,
I allow everything to be swept away
by the winds
on the soft petals of a voice.
A voice that empties all its brilliance
into our sleep
comes to see our smiles rejoice.

Life is exhibited in dirt
from the bottom of my shoe
yet never utters a word.
Still, I will never wave goodbye
to thoughts that turn.
Does anyone ever really understand
the smiles a poet burns?

I welcome hands that hush the existence
of whispered memories
lighting candles dwelling in our minds.
If you knew what was on the line,
would you be willing to sink
into night’s sound
in kind?