I was in and out of myself
last night
having out of body experiences
with all my selves.
(How do you write all this stuff early in the morning, Tina asks)
(You’re inspiring,
Addy tells me at dinner)
but all I can tell you
is when the words hit
they knock even me down
leaving me breathless
in that state between reality and dream.
That place
between me and you,
as the words poured out
a bit at a time, like my Cosmo,
until the dream I had
went something like this:
we sat next to each other
and it was pure
and real
surreal
glimpses of each other
as you let my smile
affect yours
and my innocence
replace yours.
I could share more about
this dream
but my soul
will only allow me to see
parts of it,
others it has blocked out
to make me believe
that dreams are tangible,
reality obscure
my mind is working
in dualities
in Wilde time
in Nin moments
in no shades at all.

In lost rhymes,
we found it,
in that dream
that had me tossing the words
at your shore
under the midnight moon;
that had me turning the sheets
into swords
under the dark grey sky.
It’s just words, in the end,
in the morning, in the evening;
but how these words
can take over the dream
and wake me up
in this desire
to make it all real.
How words
can create
or destroy
manipulate
or empower.
I’m the first
of my kind,
as you are
of yours.
You may not know that now,
but one day you
will understand
I am older
and wiser
and every year counts
in every lifetime,
but, alas,
the lifetime that matters most
is this one
and this dream.
I knew that all along.