Last night, you came to me
in my sleep.
You hijacked my dreams.
You were leaving again,
and you gave me a letter,
penned from your hand.
We were standing at a dock,
the setting was French Rococo.
I could see it in your eyes;
you didn’t want to let me go.
You were affectionate and loving,
finally showing how much you cared.
This time when we had to let go,
neither one of us was prepared.
So please excuse me–
back to doing what I do–
I have few waking moments,
where I’m not dreaming about you.