I touch a mark that sears with pain, with blood filled ink my verse I rain upon this page of words for you and still I cannot reach you through the mists that we call dreams and yet my lips with yours they have not met. I wipe fresh tears that taste of us and hiding, never make a fuss, for fear of causing you to shed your own warm drops of bloodshot red. What value have these tactile tears, since for at least a thousand years, I’ve dreamed of you and here you are, a vision of a love too far. And soon the life that I call real, disperses as your need I feel, though fingertips feel naked, cold without your hand to touch and hold. I switch my parallel existence, poems weaved, my soul subsistence, feeding what my body craves, you crash my shore with forceful waves. And maybe here in dreams we’ll stay, where tears don’t see the light of day, where bruises fade, and heartbreaks mend, and beasts of hate to stars we send. Perhaps you’ll stay and hold me close, where past realities are ghosts, that have no power to haunt this space, where tenderness unmasks my face, that hidden in my life and shrouded, wings of verse this cage kept clouded, now emerge and lift my dreams as Real And Right, torn at the seams are myths of minds awash with lies , but you see truth within these eyes adoring you, as close to me, you whisper words of What Could Be and silently you calm my storm and in your gaze, my heart you form, and as I sleep to feel your kiss, no tears can reach
a dream like this.