A dark ocean carried by the wind obscures my travel.
As the last sliver of light disappears behind the ghostly sea of clouds, I dream of you.
Memories worm their way into my conscience.  
Like your fingers gently weaving through my hair,
Though I have not even reached my destination, I can only think of returning.
I must repress what passions remain or this week will tear me apart.
Away from you I am away from life.
These thoughts rush by along with the clouds: transient in their form, continuous in their substance.
A voice pulls me away.
Her face, barely visible in the dark of the cabin, once beautiful now wrinkled with time stares at me with a formality: a smile.
The cold cup passes from her hand to mine, and I am out the window again.
The clouds are gone, replaced by the spreading tendrils of light that characterize the spontaneity of urban invasiveness.
Looking down I see cars, buildings, people, and in this transient state between destinations, between sleep and wakefulness, between happiness and sorrow, I dream that each one has a face like yours.

I dream of a world filled with you.