in
in dreams, my body
tells me things
i study you
my
my body feels so inadequate
so very
loved, yet
still so inadequate for this
in dreams
my body tells me things
my body tells
me in dreams
of things
my body is always primal
body
to hide pain or joy
or even joyful pain
or pleasure
body
tell me things
things
told to me
by my body
i pressed a leaf
between the pages of a book
in a chapter i
haven’t read yet.
it was a dark purple leaf
with crimson veins
from a season that has already passed
from a season i wanted to keep
saved in a timeless moment,
like a child laughing at
the rain.
a child who hasn’t grown jaded yet,
always curious,
and free,
always feeling safe
even in the unknown,
at home with questions,
questions wrapped up in life,
and life itself held as a question.
i dreamed last night.
i couldn’t find my pen.
wait, that’s not quite right.
i didn’t really lose it.
it was just hiding from me.
that’s different.
i couldn’t write anything.
my fingers felt tangled.
and without it,
nothing made sense
at all.
maybe this sounds confusing.
but it isn’t.
in my dream, i woke up
and saw the pen
was in my bed, and it had burst
now i was covered
in thick ink
that flowed over my body
and eventually into my mouth.
when i tried to speak,
i gurgled
and jumbled
and tangled thoughts
spilled out of my mouth.
onebreathpoetry.com 