The Ram

i dream of you last night.
the way you lips would pout
when you read your favorite book
still as clear,
as if the last ten years of silence
never even happened.
i’d trace the freckles on your arm
like i was plotting a star chart
on your skin.
your hair,
like a mocha waterfall,
would fall around my face
as we drew close.
i dreamt of you last night.

and i think that’s all you’ve become to me,
a dream.


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