in my dreams i feed you fresh fruit
apples with the skins peeled
paper thin slices of banana,
of course strawberries.
juice runs down the curve of your jaw
and my thumb after it.
i dream of pressing my fingers into the meat of your shoulder
casting spells of knot-be-gone with each touch
that kinda magic that only comes when asleep
the kind that gets you to finally relax, release tension you've
been holding for so long
i hook my knuckle up the length of your spine and
it makes you sigh.
in my dreams i cook you dinner
seasonings of love, and all that gay shit we joke about
giggling over plates of tenderness, bowls overflowing with kisses and spoonfuls
of laughter and light and everything we dreamed about back in college
where the world was created and destroyed
every single day.
i didn't dream of much back then.
isn't it funny how things change?