I've dreamt your hands painting the twilight
and folding my epistle into a rose.
So many pages stained with black coffee,
so many poems limned with doting prose.

I've dreamt the fragrance of warm linens,
your patterned quilt and sleepy eyes.
Ever so slowly, the pink-clad nimbus
wheels across lavender skies.

I've dreamt the embrace of limpid waves
breaking upon the charcoal shore
and as I'm wrapped within moonlit shallows
my gaze shall cascade into yours.