can make me feel
so intangibly close to you
though i haven't seen you
or even heard your voice
in months.
i must have reached yesterday
some kind of quota
in the time allotted towards
my persistent thoughts surrounding you
to earn the right
to the simple sweet surprise
of having you cast in my dream last night,
and in turn my groggy
shy recollections of it
this morning.
i was in your kitchen, i think,
talking with your mother
when in you walked, bag-laden,
sandy fauxhawk
blue button-down, bright eyed as always;
and staring into my coffee,
being found by you this way
even in my own dream
off-guard and unsuspecting,
my face burned scarlet.
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