(i have this dream of)

rolling over, sloppily,
to be buried in the rough cotton
field of your hair, short fingers
landing loose against a limb–
the arm that catches me sometimes
or one of those long-ass legs;

opening first one reluctant eye
and then the eager other,
ravishing the plains of your skin/
the planes of your body
without moving an inch

and slowly, like a patient worm
over the loamy earth
shifting my short self up
until i can claim the delight
of pushing my quiet lips
against your sleeping mouth–
my shy sweet joy, kissing you


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