these hand-holding dreams
are disturbing my sleep.
i clutch at the sheets
as it creeps over me
with its blanket of flowers
whose petals count hours,
the tint of a rose
until now,
from when i fell for you
in that christmas-lit room:
a horizon of eyes
over, under the moon.
no, i couldn't have dreamed
that, again, here we'd meet,
locking fingers, again,
fast asleep.