In my dreams, we get coffee. I don't like coffee. I tolerate it for you, even in sleep. you drive us somewhere, we joke in nonsense words in this swimming, changing sweven. each time I reach for you, long, languid, far away from you, my hand misses. I can't see your eyes behind your sunglasses.

In my dreams you lift me, swing me round, tip my chin up, my lips parted ready to receive. romantic, amatory, intoxicating as my mind manufactures what your scent is remembered to be. your curls rumpled beneath my fingers, your lips crushed to mine.

In my dreams, your fingers glide over my skin. I still can't see your eyes. obscured, hidden, far away from me. those voids I could get lost in, soft like trodden soil in a forest of forgotten name, the deep  warmth that I would tear the sky open to see, in my dreams they are shrouded.

In my dreams, we are luminous, candescent, besotted with each other. in love with the coffee made of toleration, the car I can't recognize, the jokes spoken in garbled nonsense that will be forgotten as sleep slides from me, as your image slips into the ether.

In my dreams, I can't see your eyes.