A little morning rain for the
smoke in your eyes. You make
beefy dreams smack of makeshift.
We’ve met like this for daydreams
then you’re out the door and me
always horny for a little more.
Beefcake this, pipe dream!
You could be as much trouble
and maybe worse! It’s why I
like you, right? So crawl into bed
with why not, whisper how it’s
only cuz your bunk is burning.
This goes on for days over a
junket of dreamed email. Sleep.
A junco flutters at your ear,
its pipe lit with meat sends
up a mere bacony wisp. And
you smother it with the covers.
Outside a little drizzle turns to
sleet. You wake to what looks as
hoarfrost, blink a bit to melt a
salty glaze, and exhale a wintry
exhaust. I can’t get you out of
my mind. We’ve met like this
before. A warmth like extra
breath beneath my blanket.
A day or so passes. I open a
door to vapor, a wisp of what
was never there. I burn the toast
Thanksgiving morning. This goes on
all winter. You blink a bit. And
January. A frozen smokestack. A
warm dream of rain. Opens a door.
You enter out of nothing, real and
full of warmth, kick out all the junk
til I’m awake, and all I’m ever yours.
