I dreamt that
I was at your house
And I woke from dreams and reached for you.
My heart was full of love
And you were as beautiful
As you have always been to me--
It was dark;
I could barely see.
I was talking softly to you,
And because I was still half-held in sleep,
And was as open to you as spring leaves.
You leant into me,
But your voice broke;
"Shay, I can't do this."
It was raining slightly on the streets outside
As you gave me
Some jeans and a yellow top of yours to wear
(Yellow? Would you ever really wear yellow?)
And so I
Wrapped myself in empty space where you had been,
And woke up to write this poem.
*privately, this poem has a different title...the name of the city where Beatrice lives.