Untidy Weavings

“I dream of you, more often than I’d like to admit. Every night if I could put a number to it. Under the cloth of darkness, within my cocoon of blankets that once cradled your skin; I lay awake thinking of everything under the sun. Praying, hoping for one night of untidy weavings. A semblance of idiocy that can be laughed about in the morning. Yet every night I dream of you. The longing that lingers on my lips, hunger upon my finger tips. A stampede of a thousand sparrows beating my chest. An eternity of honey sweetening my ears.

I wake praying for the voracious paralysis to let go of my soul, let go of my dreams keeping me tethered. I dream of you, speaking softly when I am in tatters. A melody of meetings in front of our cars. The moon sending her hands across the eons to cup your face. Written notes dancing between the passage of time. I feel you across the stars, tending to your grace, giving to your heart, laughing in the dark.

I dream of sweetness, and sniffling. Of stillness, and shortbread. Of diligence, and cravings. Understanding our dreams has been a long standing journey for all of mankind, yet I don’t wake wondering. A peace from piecing the knowing together, a bit of spittle smearing my cheek whispering a song of sobriety. Of clarity. There’s no mystery to be solved, though I claim to be curious. I dream of softness, and embrace.

If distance made the heart grow fonder, then my heart twisting in affection and yearning leads to credence to the old adage. I dream of you each night, against my better judgement. I go about my day without a thought or two, and each night it’s only you. I look to the birds, the bees, the trees, the seas. I look for guidance in an ever so biased universe, to make it through the night without a dream of you. Yet I woke again today, listlessly waiting for a good morning that won’t come.”