only in my dreams

by
another morning, mourning yourself
hidden in the sheets of my thoughts
like a chameleon to invent others
lovely future for us, zigzagging and
alerted by every message appeared
on your screen, with nothing from me

another day for me with you as usually
only in my dreams, — pretending happy
hanging out with a lovely tea of jasmine
in a metaphysical fiction, suggestively
anticipating you'll know who knows you
absorbs you setting you to take the hit


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running with the wolves of an exquisite vocabulary, knight of the pen, guided by the religion of music, it springs up somewhere in a spectacular ceremony there, dreams don't frown, because love's structure is painted obsessively about you, about me... both in a white silence splendor, dripping confidently... lust
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