BSigN

In dreams

Yours is not a transient soul

The gentle quivers of your lips brush upon the air

and the winds sing

a song as beautiful as you

Stay, those are not your eyes

So often in the realm of the real averting my stare

But in dreams

They’re closed and pressed against my hair

Your fluid skin shivers

in its way as I’ve dreamed a thousand times

Your gray brown hair is wine

Liquid gold leaving a trace

of its race through the weightless mass of my body

and I wake from a Dionysian dream

and once again you’re Beta Sigma Nu

and you sit next to me in class