When I dream, I dream of you. And when I dream of you it's in colors that don't exist. Mind twirlin, boggling away. It's in my sleepyhead, in my bed where I wish to stay and perhaps find a name for these colors I cannot recite and dream of you for always just like day turns into night. Still I awake from a fuzzy view and find the pillow I'm holding isn't you. Salted drops form in envelopes of my eyes that are slitted open when I think of how my dreams lie. And the letter I cry to you is carefully folded inside. Ink made of tear drops and moon beams and rainbows that leave me starry eyed.