me from the mist of dreams
followed by the press
of dress shirt buttons along
the length of my back
the comforting feel of his
hand snaking around my waist
palm coming to rest on my right breast
I worry, half awake that he will
wrinkle his shirt before work
even as I slide back into sleep.
When I wake he is gone
again
My heart taking a moment
to catch up to the truth
my head knows
It is but a flesh memory
Polished, resurfaced and
flushed out into my dreams
by the simple slip of a blanket that
exposed bare skin to the cold.
Excellent post, excellent poem!
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