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.