Will you ink my body with your dreams?
A revolving door of forgetfulness is what I will become. 

When my dreams tangle with yours

a bush of thorns if you must 

Will you remember the yellow-blue of the sky?

The same sky that appeared 

out of the haze of caffeinated and twitching fingers

to form a rather simple dream

about pink dragons and mac and cheese

I have no love for the beginning of dreams

only the end

when I slowly fade out 

and back into reality 

as opposed to tossing and turning

till my sweat soaked arms finally cradle my head

and allow me to drift off

Dreamer, will you allow me to cover your body 

(not suffocate) 

till you are the only thing solid in my dreams