Gentile Dreaming
The warmth of the morning's breath
sprawled across the bed.
What's mine is yours...
Fingers,
now grasping at linen sheets
that glow so pure
in a faint, timeless summer.
I felt your arms maneuver around my waist,
until they settled into place,
strong like castle walls.
Your eyes calculated time through precious memories
that are now fogging our teenage minds.
Your lips are gentile,
as if you were holding an egg in the back of your throat.
I was dreaming about the ocean
again,
only this time,
I woke up,
and the dream didn't end.
By: Brandi Deacon
2010
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