Dream

I see you standing there on the bleach washed porch, hair flitting softly in the subtle breeze. Your smile carves wood in its beauty, engraving your heart within its own flesh. You wait, for what, I cannot see, but you wait patiently in the dull gray weather of the sky. Yellow cloth billows quick, then smooth, falling right back to its place. The dress clings tightly around your curved body until it is ripped away again by the wind, only to settle back once more. Cheeks rosy, hands loose, leaning against a pole as white and pure as your own innocence. This scene stretches before me, not as a dream, but a recollection. I know I have seen it, and will see it, for better or for worse. I wake with a smile on my lips.