Wet Pillow

I'm fine with most things.

Easy come. Easy go.

I've seen it all.

Been most things too.

Inside and in between.

Accepted my fate.

Comfortable under my skin.

I'm the storm, and the stream.

Cascade of a dream.

Light breeze above

the lacy froth ashore.

Tide leaks

the more I lean.

My moon circles rarely

but its phases change

in a heartbeat.

Phases and faces.

Hide and seek in penumbra.

A smile for a sorrow.

I bloom in the gloom.

In secret contemplating death.

Tip toeing around

so not to wake him.

Flirting and toe dipping in the lake

Undyinful desire

to rest on some cloud across from you.

It's not about the fluff.

Not the soft cushions.

Not the furry blankets.

All tarnish and garnish.

It's the lullabies

and the lanterns in the mist.

The candlelight all hollows eve.

How your skin was soaked in petrichor

and it's raining ever since.

Life holds meaning somewhere

between the expiring smiles

and this comfy grave.

I lie in tears

longing your embrace

from across these walls.

It is then

we pierce the veil

and meet between worlds.

I pray for my desire phantoms

that come to life only at night.

I strive to make them real

only to remain nostalgia on my pillow.

Let me keep my eyes closed

a little longer

longing

as you linger here

as I wake sweet

from this living dream.

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⚜ For my late husband.

⚜ C omfort when we meet in dreams.

⚜ Pictures are selected and combined in a collage to capture the aesthetic imagery and symbolism of the poem.

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