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.