The Man

There is a man in my waking dreams.

I see him when I close my eyes,

disappears when I open them.

He is no other man I’ve met before.

He has lean body,

one which I hug to sleep –

one which I smell when I wake up,

wrapped in his arms,

wrapped in our sheets.

He has well-cut hair:

long enough to hold

yet short to reveal his ears.

He has fair skin that I bathe

with scented soaps and gentle kisses.

One with the almost-perfect hands

that compliments mine;

hands that I hold

and fingers that tangle mine.

He is everything a pillow can be,

a handkerchief, a song,

a cup of coffee, a good book,

and everything I wish for a rainy day.

But this man is no other man

I’ve met before.

Everything seems perfect and real.

But everything about him is clouded

because I don’t know this man.

I haven’t met him yet.



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