I had a dream.

I had a dream we walked,
and on the side of the road there were signs marked,
“flowers for your lover,” in front of ornate gardens,
and you picked me queen anne’s lace,
and I held it so tight and so long it wilted in my fingers,
but I didn’t care because it made my fingers smell like sun,
and we walked home hand in hand,
under a lavender sky.

I had a dream we ran,
we ran so hard and so long and so fast we grew wings,
but your feet were torn,
so we sat together on the beach while they stitched themselves back up,
and we waited while the sun set
behind clouds of blood red.

I had a dream we slept,
with my head was against your chest,
and your arm around my waist,
rocked in a storm but stuck fast to each other,
and you picked gold sand dollars from the ocean floor when we woke,
and their color soaked into your palms until it dripped from your fingertips,
and into the ocean of glass.

I had a dream.