hypnagogic stranger

The dream is always to escape,
create the alternate place

I love the little mes at my knees
but still have the need
to feel that graze on my cheek
a crush of the lips, new and intimate
so tasteful in his grip

to feel the sending in
and coming out of another being
head on a blood filled beating chest
let him live for me in this reality,
I am dead to this waking world I see.

I cannot speak, my arms lay stiff-
cold puddy in the jar on the shelf
 
but just beneath-
In his arms, I eat dreamlets, hear the words that don't exist,
paint pictures of his hips, we are writhing in an eclipse
with a hypnic jerk he disappears
lost to me for seventy years

I promise I won't speak a word but this
then finally sleep in a babe drooling bliss.