all we are is words on paper
dreams in slumber and dreams in daylight
the chances that you could also be writing me
from across the globe
are thin as this here paper

why do i write to you?
why does your voice follow me in my dreams?
last night i dreamt of us conversing for hours
your creaky voice is burned into my minds ear
it squeaks to me in rapid eye movement murmurs  
why do i write to you?

if there is power in attraction
in this universe
then my naive ego believes i could will you to me
like demanding the tide come
i could pull you upon my shore

tonight, more than anything, i long to dance with you
to be embraced by your lean, long arms
like a cluster of young fruit
growing up within the embrace
of the blueberry branches in july

when we dance your body is like a rocking chair
sturdy, and swaying with the music
i sink into your frame
same as i would when i was a tired child
nuzzling into the embrace of the foregone wooden rockers
that adorned my great grandmothers front porch

i yearn to hear the creaks of your soft wooden voice
wafting above my hair
as i twirl 'round you