I think of love and how it can only exist
In your dreams as I trace their remnants,
Made feasible by the dim light of morning
Which is both drooping and waving, prepared.
I think of love and how it can only exist
In the shutter images of your unfocused eyes,
More like weather than windows, clouded
By morning with showers of yawns.
I think of love and how it can only exist
As our bed is a forest, the stirring of your
Body I follow like footpaths lit by sun,
Patches of light on us like puddles.
I think of love and how it can only exist
As it is etched into your face, those
Pillow case creases that makes me the
Cheekbone cartographer and I think
Of love and how it can only exist
In this dream of mine.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 5:42 AM UTC
I think of love and how it can only exist
In your dreams as I trace their remnants,
Made feasible by the dim light of morning
Which is both drooping and waving, prepared.
I think of love and how it can only exist
In the shutter images of your unfocused eyes,
More like weather than windows, clouded
By morning with showers of yawns.
I think of love and how it can only exist
As our bed is a forest, the stirring of your
Body I follow like footpaths lit by sun,
Patches of light on us like puddles.
I think of love and how it can only exist
As it is etched into your face, those
Pillow case creases that makes me the
Cheekbone cartographer and I think
Of love and how it can only exist
In this dream of mine.
This is a revision of my poem Morning Map. This, I think, has worked out better.
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