dear you,

did you know that i dream about you?

it happens quite often. i dream that there is a storm outside, and i am watching you sleep on the couch. thin strands of your hair stir slightly as you breathe, but otherwise nothing is disturbed. you sprawl; the couch is your own space, the fabric of your old clothes was made to fit you and only you. the room is dark but not heavy, in the kind of shadow that falls on a late summer afternoon during hurricane season. my eyes need a place to rest and find their way, naturally, to you, focusing on the elongated limbs, the relaxed skin around the parts of you that bend.

every so often a roll of thunder spreads itself evenly through my ears, a distant, full sound. lightning steals in past the chinks in the curtains and casts your face in blue. a grayish blue, soft and constantly changing with every new electric flash.  the color starts at your cheekbones and ends on your parted lips, dripping into the roots of your hair. your eyelids flutter as what you're seeing in sleep becomes tinged at the edges; you shift slightly; the lightning washes over the crease of an inner elbow, the hollow of your neck. it is very intimate, very subtle, i am jealous of its comfortable relationship with your body. the weather knows you very well.

better than i do.
that is what i dream.

yours,

me