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the city in between waking and dreaming
I dreamed in
silent movie
and sounds
and sped up smiles
and painted on frowns.
No colors,
no hues
just whitewashed
black shadowed tombs.
And you entered the scene
your hair moved
in sea foam green,
nothing was quite
as it once seemed.
And one by one
colors crept in
the edges of
your smile spin
small cracks
of brilliant red
and flesh became real
and the sound ran
like a thread
stitching and weaving
and patching
and unpeeling
places that have
been worn thin.
Oh, how I wish to
touch those lips again.
