Going through my old poems, I think I’ve always been a dreamy romantic. One that is constantly hiding underneath a mountain of introverted trust issues.

Poem #45 (revised, 2023)

I love the way you nuzzle

the soft hollow of my neck. 

The dark amber of your cologne reminds me of urgent kisses

exchanged in the last minutes of twilight before the world goes dark.

Warm arms encircling my back, pulling me so close that my skin meets your soul.

I melt into your solid chest, gripping tight to fuse us together.

Behind fluttering white curtains, surrounded by faint moonlight and the sounds of a city

fighting off sleep, I let myself fall. 

Everything coalesces. The calls of the world outside the window fade into the sound of your breath in my hair. Your steady heartbeat at my ear. 

My own heart beats a rapid flutter, and our bodies sway in a silent dance. 

My eyes blink open to the repeated calls of an insistent alarm. Squinting at the time, the glowing numbers stare back at me. 9am. 

I am starfished across an otherwise empty bed. 

My head turns to bury itself back into the pillow, chasing the whisps of an aching dream.