Last night I dreamt of you. Not sure if it’s habit, but it’s something I often do. 

Strange how familiar it’s seems to feel your clothing in my dreams. Like reality on my fingertips, the shape of your mouth, the curve of your hips. 

The alarm the intruder that calls the shots, it shatters momentum and shapes the plots. But throughout the day those scenes return, for that reality I yearn.

Where I run my fingers through you hair and tell you the thoughts only we could share. I bite my tongue and taste you still. I close my eyes just to feel.