my dreams are pining because they cannot rest beside you
or beneath you, where they and you used to speak and breathe together.
my body remembers being pressed against walls,
heavy breathing and lips tied together like strings or
locked together like bolts;
it remembers attraction like magnets and metals;
when we met by mouth and hips first and
then pushed apart like two negatives,
hoping for something to bring us back together again.
in my sleep, i dream that we are in bed not sleeping.
i want to soak up your smell and your soul, inhaling you
deeply like sunshine; i imagine you in my daytime.