The Dream

It’s the colors that I remember most.  The room is dim but lit sourcelessly. I can see the walls, cream colored, and the sheets I’m tangled in as pink like a conch.  And your hair, dark as the corners of the room, dark as the door.  You get into bed and I put my arm around you and you curl up to me.  I know it’s a dream now.  But it goes on, and I put my cheek to yours and you turn to me, and we’re resting our heads against each other, and I feel your skin against mine and my hands are nowhere, it’s just our faces, our necks.  We fit perfectly.  And then I wake up.