You were a dream, as was she,

but neither of you were the dream.

She kept shifting from dark to light.

Both of you were, simultaneously

light and dark, entwined like lovers

tangled in a kiss. He watched, intrigued

and somewhat guilty, as if a voyeur

peering through bedroom blinds.

The dream kept returning to you

and her together, but not together;

separate in your costumes and colors:

red and black lace against warm skin;

a part of the ambient background

reasserting itself again into day.

He woke often, then returned to you,

in the dream, with her. The dream

turned the morning back into itself,

until where each of them left off vanished,

like promises which were never made.

(May 7, 2018)