I had a dream you slept in my bed
and the next morning you played with my hair
waking me ever so gently
then when our eyes met
you ate my hair like it was spaghetti
I watched you devour every last strand
then this morning I had a thought
I wish I could pickle my heart for you
to keep it fresh for when you decide you want it
because as I wait,
and wait,
and wait for you,
I fear that the use by date printed on it will pass
and all this time that I had my heart on your plate
will have been for nothing
I would become an expired woman
that you would never want to keep in your fridge