I dreamt of your face last night
I can't help it. You seep in through
my open window and crawl through
my blankets, up to my head and stay
there. but only until I awaken in morning.

it's not easy to be a poet, infatuated.

I dreamt of your face tomorrow night.
I can't help it. You're in the eight or nine
inches of my skull that were supposed to
be mine alone. and worse, I don't want you
to leave that place. stay in my head, bed, and
dreams.

it's not easy to be a man, infatuated.