In my dreams, you walk me like stairs

and consume my thoughts as sit-down meals.

Your skin is radiant and warm like sun.


I am a half-landing staircase

and you return here, familiar.

Heels press into my wooden subconscious.


Footsteps rattle me like thunder,

my voice creaking from under your weight.

My heart, a handrail. My spine, a spindle.


A dream shift starts to melt me and

I stretch into Achilles marble.

Glowing, I am stationary for you.


You decorate me like barren skin,

laughter falling from my neck like gold.

Your voice is jewelry and I am rich.


I feed you well in tri-course meals,

letting you chew my tangible thoughts.

You belch, unaware of the space you take.


Drinking my subconscious like wine,

you swallow my indecision whole.

My trust is decadent, a ten coat trifle.


I rarely get closer than this,

than an arm’s length imagination.

And if I do, I feel your fluorescence.


I let it coat my skin and float,

gingerly fill my lungs and drown me.

I whisper graciousness as I give in.


My dreams melted against a warm

reality when I looked at you.

You blend the line of whimsy and caution.


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