i have a little dream
of you in the moonlight
my fingertip tracing
poems upon your back
words limned in luminance
braiding foxgloves into your hair

it’s just an idea,
it’s all just ideals:
ideal you...moonlight, skin, words
a little dream of “could be”
prickled with starlight
tinged with a berry scent
a tangled glow

I stay drunk on dreams,
I stay inflamed on dreams,
my ear pressed to the walls of the worlds
listening to the whispers from the universe next door.

don’t force me sober.
reality tastes like concrete.