A Misty Morning's Waking

I fell asleep last night curled up in blankets beneath a sky obscured with clouds. At some point I slipped into dreaming for I felt you there with me: one arm beneath my head and the other holding me close to keep the chill of the misty morning at bay, stray kisses falling upon my neck every once in awhile as we slumbered there amid the clouds in a heaven of our own making.


Clouds lay blanketing us, thrown down from heaven for their heavy sins, a smokescreen upon which fantasies play out around our heads close enough to touch yet always beyond our reach. The dances of figures unknowable donning masks of the fogginess of mind step and turn and slide away then back amidst the labyrinth of our minds. Yet, we are always there together despite the shifting faces behind the veil of the forgetfulness time bestows upon us.


I woke in my own bed, it all having been a dream, wondering if you’d felt as close to me last night as I did to you or if you let your soul wander in dreams at all. My body was stiff and sore as if it had indeed spent the entire night out in the cold damp air, twisted up in blankets under a soulless sky. So long until I can see you again, though not long at all if I choose to be the pragmatic adult I’m told I am. We have spent too long watching one another in arms not our own. When, my love, will we be empirical with each other again?