To whisper down a curling strand
and have shy words slip tenderly
across the hills and valleys of our heads,
heavy on pillows soft with sleepy mutterings
of nights past, uttered half hoping
for a reply in spite of raucous heartbeats
choking the breath in my chest
like clouds of fluttering somethings
and memorizing the rise and fall
of your drowsy mouth
in case it shifts to shape a phrase or two
and has to be relearned;

to know that somewhere over our heads,
our dreams are spilling into one another,
sharing casts and color schemes,
blending dropped hints from the dead and
crowding the ceiling for room to grow, to become
even more fantastic;

to know that in spite of all the teases and
reminders of beautiful things that
I will never be, and how they sting so deeply,
your eyes light for me like they will only light for me
and your hands rest where only they will ever be;

it all creates such a dear state of wonder!