I had you in a dream once,
it wasn't very long.
The details escape me,
but your taste,
remembered longingly.
It was all that I got,
A slight brushing of lips,
not a real kiss.
Not even a full dream,
that's as far as we got.
Before we both turned away
and reality interrupted.

Two years ago that fantasy was,
but the play of dreamlight,
the subtle upturn of your
lips is still fresh in my mind.
The familiar fit of
your hand in mine.

Familiar fit?
But it's never happened,
not in reality.
Probably not even
as a thought
of yours
playing across
an unknown destiny.
No impossible thoughts
for you to sink in.

Drown in.

So if this is so far
from real
then why is it
a preoccupation,
obsession,
that takes my every moment?
A long infected **** of blue,
that's covering,
conquering,
every facet of my mind?

I pride myself a strong
detached man.
Society begs it,
but who am I kidding?
When thoughts turn to you
my flesh is no good,
it only ***** around,
like so much cloth.
It realizes futility,
and refuses direction.

It disobeys me.
It betrays me.
It begins with convulsions,
a wracking of shoulders,
It ends with subtle gesture,
a trail of new tears.