it’s a dream, too good to be true; i comb her hair with my fingers
i bid my eyes to stay shut and in my ear i hear nothing but her whispers
confused but content, i sigh into her bare shoulder
and find myself carried away into the deepest kind of slumber

she is here—my love—and her love borders on tangible
the dips and bumps of her body under my fingers: palpable
she pushes but she doesn’t shove, she pulls but she isn’t careless
yet her gaze and her words, they are everything but selfless

i count the stars til i run out, then i trace with a finger the freckles on her face
in her sleep—not mine, i checked—she is nothing but softness and grace
her heartbeat against mine might be too good to be true
but this is not a dream and my reality is, "you"