in dreams

colorless

or monochromatic

grey

or black

or white…

as ordinary and

unimpressive

as a loaf of bread.

Staring in my direction

with misplaced joy….

finally, it seems

we are getting somewhere:

to the lost and

corroded

heart of the matter.

She starts to speak

thick lips shaping

soundless words…

everything

burning at once

unclear and overly meaningful

all at the same time;

who can keep up?

I’m shaking my head yes

solely, it seems

for the feel  of the motion.

Briefly her breath

rises and falls, jagged, frail–

scented with smoke.

Adrift in our passion

fire ignited between

the souls of lovers;

that she and I ever

found each other is

some degree of miracle

yet here we stand

or sit…

in dead of winter with

the wind blowing through the leaves of trees

with the wrong names and

in the wrong places

knowing each other and barely recognizable

as the falseness

creeps in.

false

and real

look the same to

the lonely dreamer and

again I am

promising myself until death

without considering

that she’s never knelt down and

washed my feet

or my hand

or, for that matter any part of my body

with her hair…